An Accident of Paradise
by Nirav
Summary: Make a toast, make a wish, slash some tires/Paint a heart repeating, beating 'don't give up, don't give up, don't give up.'
1. Chapter 1

Quinn stared dumbly at Rachel, utter bafflement written across her features.

"Excuse me?" she ground out. She clenched her teeth together, unconsciously counted to ten, and did her best to reign in the hormonal surge prompting her to stride across the room and shove her elbow into Rachel Berry's face. She'd had a bad enough day as it was, and the last thing she wanted to deal with was a self-important American Idol contestant yammering at her.

"Glinda and Elphaba," Rachel repeated. "You and I are like Glinda and Elphaba."

Hands on her hips, Quinn felt her pregnancy-driven anger subside slightly, giving way to an annoyingly persistent feeling of intrigue. She cocked her head to one side, continuing to stare at Rachel thoughtfully, as if surveying the question in her mind.

"I _know_ you aren't saying that I'm the green one," she said after a long few seconds. Momentarily, she wished for her Cheerios uniform and cheerleading ponytail back, just for courage's sake; she missed the empowerment.

"Hardly," Rachel half-said, half-snorted. Quinn fought the urge to roll her eyes at the entirely unladlylike sound. "Your voice isn't remotely suited for Elphaba's part. You'd need years more training, and anyways, your voice has that same fragile quality to it that—"

"Hey, man-hands," Quinn interjected. "There's a difference between a character and the songs they sing." She gave in and rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest. "I mean, have you even _read_ the book? You're way more Glinda than I am, with all the primping and the chatter and _complete_ obsession with appearances."

"_You've_ read it?" Rachel said disbelievingly.

"Oh, don't even," Quinn snapped. "Just because I am—_was_ a cheerleader." She winced momentarily, recovering so quickly that Rachel didn't even seem to notice, before continuing on. "Doesn't mean that I don't read. I'm third in our class. Way, _way_ ahead of you, for the record."

"But you've read _Wicked_?" Rachel said excitedly. "That's just… wow. And when did you find the time?"

Quinn shrugged. "I like to read. It's relaxing. Good way to calm down after a long day."

"Oh, I know," Rachel said. "It's so relaxing. I love crawling into bed with a book and listening to a specific playlist of soothing music and reading until I fall asleep; it's the most wonderful—"

"See?" Quinn said. "That, right there, _Glinda_. Always talking."

Rachel crossed her arms. "You know, if I'm Glinda, that makes you Elphaba. And she's green."

"So not," Quinn retorted. "_You're_ the only one going on about some personality parallel there. I'm only Elphaba if your analogy works, and it doesn't even come close."

"And why not?" Rachel said. Quinn felt a creeping sense of doom; she knew she should never have gotten into this conversation. Rachel never could seem to back down from a challenge. "We don't get along because of petty social rules at a petty school, we're polar opposite personalities but still good-hearted women at the core. Unusual circumstances have pushed us together socially. And our vocal styles even line up! You've got the same delicacy to your voice that Kristin Cheno—"

"You do realize that she went nuts at the end, right?" Quinn interrupted, desperate to shut her up. Her back was starting to ache from a long day of pretending she wasn't pregnant, and her feet were sore; she wanted nothing more than a bed to lie on and someone to rub the stiffness out of her muscles. The thought of going home to Finn's house was as unappetizing as staying at school and listening to Rachel Berry prattle on about _Wicked_.

"And even if you look at the musical, she was just a bitch. I mean, letting your best friend go on for the rest of her life thinking you and the man she loved are both dead because of her? What the hell kind of person does that?"

"She didn't have a choice!" Rachel protested. "And let's face it, it's not like Glinda was totally innocent, either."

"Glinda was a dumbass," Quinn said flippantly. "Most of the things she did weren't malicious or intentional, just kind of stupid. She wasn't exactly a Rhodes scholar. But Elphaba was supposed to be all kinds of brainy, and she still made ridiculous mistakes."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Rachel said. Quinn rolled her eyes.

"There are mistakes, and there are mistakes," she said with a tone of finality. "Choosing to break your best friend's heart and leaving her to live the rest of her life out alone? That's not something that real friends do."

"And I suppose you know all about that, don't you? What with the long line of friends you had lining up to jump in front of a slushie for you," Rachel said.

Both of them froze at her words. Rachel looked like she couldn't believe the thought had actually escaped her lips. Quinn felt a hollow pit expanding in her stomach, into her chest and up her throat. Neither spoke for a painfully long time.

"Rest assured, Berry," Quinn said finally. She laughed humorlessly. "If you were my best friend, I'd never break your heart like she broke Glinda's."

Moving slowly, one hand resting unconsciously on her stomach in a protective manner, Quinn hefted her bag and walked past Rachel to the door. Unconsciously, both of them shifted to the side, assuring spare inches of space between them as Quinn passed.


	2. Chapter 2

"Quinn," Rachel called. She elbowed her way through the crowd of students in the hallway, wincing internally at how graceless she felt. Ahead of her, the distinctive shimmer of Quinn's blonde head tilted slightly at Rachel's voice, and then shifted back as she continued silently on her way.

"Quinn," Rachel called out again, exasperation tingeing her voice. She'd been trying to find the opportunity to apologize to the blonde for three days, but Quinn was impressively adept at ducking and weaving, so to speak—especially for being pregnant. With a sigh, Rachel slowed as she watched Quinn join up with Santana, effectively protecting herself from Rachel's attempts; Santana was possibly the only glee member that Rachel was still weary of.

Regardless, Rachel still tried doggedly to talk to Quinn between classes. She finally resorted to manipulating Mr. Schuester into thinking it was a good idea for glee club to work on duets, and that it would be just brilliant if she and Quinn worked together—after all, working on a duet had allowed her shaky-but-growing friendship with Puck to form, so it very well might do the same for her and Quinn. Mr. Schue ate it up and finally, after three days of effort, Rachel found herself face to face with Quinn.

They sat in the band room, six chairs and four music stands separating them. Quinn was perched on the stool for a keyboard, absently running her fingers over the keys; Rachel fidgeted nervously with the metal edge of the music stand in front of her.

"Do you play anymore?" she said eventually, desperate to break the silence. Quinn didn't look up, though her fingers paused over the keys. "I remember you playing when were in grade school," Rachel forged on.

"Not really," Quinn said quietly. "Coach Sylvester recruited me and Brittany in seventh grade, convinced my parents that it was a good idea because I could get a scholarship to college. They ate it up, said I should focus on cheerleading, because I was more likely to get something out of it. They sold the piano so I wouldn't be _tempted_." She couldn't rein in the sneer in her voice at the last word.

"That's idiotic," Rachel said. "You had great potential. Your parents shouldn't have taken it away from you."

Quinn shrugged. Her fingers danced above the keys, unforgotten melodies playing out in her head.

Rachel gathered her courage, making her way around the six chairs and four music stands until she was standing on the other side of the keyboard from Quinn. She inhaled deeply, knocked out an eight-count in her head, and then exhaled.

"I want to apologize," she said bluntly. "What I said to you the other day was unfair, and uncalled for. I shouldn't have lashed out like I did, and I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings by doing so."

Quinn finally looked up. A sad half-smile quirked her lips, and she raised one eyebrow. "How many times did you practice that in the mirror?" she asked. There was no trace of mockery in her voice.

Rachel blushed, then shrugged. "Once or twice," she said evasively.

"Well, it did you good," Quinn said, her voice matter-of-fact. "Accepted."

"Oh," Rachel said. She had hardly expected it to go so easily, and found herself at a loss. "Okay then." She smoothed her hands over her sweater, just to occupy them. "I guess we should get started. Mr. Schue only gave us an hour."

"Of course," Quinn deadpanned. "Can't let down glee."

"Hey, it's your team, too," Rachel shot back.

"I know," Quinn said, her voice soft. She paused, sliding her fingers along the keys once more, and then pushed herself to her feet and made her way over to where Rachel had taken a seat. "So, Elphaba, what's the plan?"

Rachel smiled and pulled out a notebook full of sheet music, half a dozen brilliant ideas welling in her throat. She only smiled wider when Quinn rolled her eyes mockingly at the sheet music for _Wicked_.


	3. Chapter 3

Quinn missed home. As much as she had chafed under her parents restrictions, and as much as she knew that it was good to be out from under their disapproval, she missed it and she missed them. As Christmas drew nearer, she felt like she couldn't close her eyes without seeing the huge Christmas tree her father and godfather would go cut down every year, that she and her mother would decorate; the smell of pine and cinnamon wafting throughout the entire house; the steadily growing pile of presents in the living room.

Every time she rolled over in the narrow, lumpy twin bed she slept in at Finn's house, she remembered cinnamon and pine and opening gifts on Christmas morning as a family; she couldn't make herself focus on the family fights that always waited until at least two days after Christmas; or the fact that the turkey they ate for Christmas dinner was always bought pre-cooked; or the fact that no matter how heartfelt and painstakingly chosen her gifts for her parents were, they always gave her what they wanted and never what she asked for.

Sometime shortly after Thanksgiving, she had started finding reasons to stay later at school. Finn's house was within walking distance, and he was preoccupied enough not to argue. Quinn would hide in the bathroom after glee practice, until everyone else had left, and then always find herself back in the practice room, reading or working on homework or taking a nap. She would time her departure to get her to Finn's house just before dark, so neither he nor his mother would worry, and then claim exhaustion and morning sickness and hide out in the spare bedroom she was using. Their small house was quiet and loving and homey, but it wasn't _home_.

The sound of the door opening pulled Quinn from the calculus homework she was struggling with. Her head whipped up, eyes wide, and a decidedly un-Christian curse floated through her head at the realization that Rachel Berry had just caught her studying in the glee practice room at 5:15 on a Thursday night.

"Quinn," Rachel said, frozen in surprise in the doorway. "What are you doing here?"

"Tap dancing," Quinn said crossly. "Obviously." She was tired and had been fighting the same math problem for fifteen minutes, but the numbers and symbols that usually made sense were translating themselves into words about responsibility and God and children and sin in her head.

Rachel made her way across the room, sitting silently two chairs away from Quinn. "I thought you left with Finn," she said. "Wasn't he going to give you a ride home?"

Quinn barked out a mirthless laugh. "What home?" she said. She focused her eyes on the papers in front of her, erasing a miscalculated derivative and scratching out the proper formulas in the margin.

"What does that mean?" Rachel said. The sincerity in her voice, the naiveté, struck a nerve in Quinn.

"What does it mean?" she snapped. She shoved the textbook and papers off her lap, not caring when they fell to the floor out of order. "It means that I don't have one. My parents kicked me out. I'm sleeping on some crappy old single bed in Finn's mom's spare bedroom, and I don't have half of my things because I'm scared that if I walk into my parents' house my dad will have me arrested for breaking and entering or force me into a convent. _That's_ what it means."

Rachel sat dumbly, unmoving, hands locked together; she stared as Quinn climbed to her feet and started pacing, arms crossed over her troublesome stomach.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said eventually. Her voice, usually so vibrant, was barely more than a whisper. "I had no idea."

"Who would?" Quinn said sardonically.

"How long ago did you tell your parents?"

It wasn't lost on Quinn that Rachel deliberately avoided using the phrase "kicked you out".

"Two weeks ago," she whispered.

"And you've been staying at Finn's?"

"Yeah." Quinn finally slowed, then stopped, her pacing. Six strides separated her from Rachel, who continued to sit motionless. Quinn marveled at her stillness—she couldn't think of a single time in sixteen years of summer camps and dance lessons and classes that she had seen Rachel Berry not move. Yet there she sat, silent and unmoving, wide brown eyes locked on Quinn, who felt ten seconds from a breakdown and wanted nothing more than a hug and someone to rub her back and sleep.

A cheeseburger would be good, too, though. She shoved the craving aside.

"It's not his," she blurted out, entirely unintentionally. Her own eyes widened and she clamped her mouth shut, one hand instinctively shooting up to cover her mouth, as if it could have stopped the words that had already passed through her lips.

Rachel still didn't move. She blinked once, and then twice, and then a sad smile appeared on her face. "It's Noah's, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Quinn muttered. "How did you…?"

"It's not that hard to see," Rachel said. "Not with the way he looks at you. He's smitten."

Quinn couldn't help the giggle that rose in her throat at the word "smitten", most especially in connection to Puck. An image of Noah Puckerman following her around like Pepe Le Pieu vaulted into her head, flowers and chocolates and floating cartoon hearts, and she was entirely unable to keep from giggling loudly.

Even her laughter sounded sad to her own ears, she noted.

"I guess so," she finally said. "Does… do you think anyone else knows?"

"Probably not," Rachel said. She finally moved, climbing to her feet slowly and halving the distance between them. "It's amazing what you can learn about someone when you date them for less than a week."

"Yeah, I guess so," Quinn said. She tried not to think about how much she didn't know about Finn, or how he knew practically nothing about her. "Rachel," she said suddenly. "Please don't tell anyone."

"He deserves to know," Rachel said. "And he's my friend. I can't lie to him."

"Please," Quinn said again. "I am going to tell him. I wasn't going to, but I know I have to. Just… please, let me be the one to tell him."

Rachel stared at her with level eyes, arms tight across her chest. Quinn had never felt more exposed, even under the speculative glares of Coach Sylvester, and shifted her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

"Okay," Rachel said finally. "But you have to tell him soon."

The thought of actually telling Finn caught in Quinn's throat, and she thought for a moment that she really was going to have that panic attack. "What if he kicks me out, too?" she whispered. Her fingers clenched unconsciously at the slender gold cross hanging around her neck. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Sure you do," Rachel said cheerfully. "For one, he won't kick you out. And even if he did, you could stay with my family. Or with Noah. We both know that he'd probably give up his own room for you in a heartbeat right now."

"Really?" Quinn hated how desperate she sounded.

"Of course," Rachel said. "Noah's as in love with you as he's ever been with anyone or anything, and he's determined not to become his father. I've no doubt that—"

"No, not him" Quinn interrupted. "I could stay with you?"

"Oh," Rachel said. She shifted uncomfortably. "Well, yeah, I don't see why not. We have a spare room, and my dads are really generous, so they wouldn't mind."

Quinn stared at her, not caring if she was gaping like a fish. Rachel continued to stand awkwardly, fingers twitching against the sleeves of her cashmere sweater.

"I…" Quinn started, her voice trailing off. "Didn't expect that, I guess."

Rachel shrugged, forced nonchalance obvious in the tight set of her shoulders. "Elphaba always did have a kind heart," she said with a faint smile. "Even for popular blondes who didn't like her all that much."

Quinn cracked a smile, and rolled her eyes; she knew that Rachel could tell that, for once, Quinn wasn't being mocking in the action. "Back to that?"

"Yes," Rachel said firmly. "It's fitting, don't you think?"

"If you say so," Quinn said. She held up her hands tiredly. "I don't even have the energy to argue." She knelt slowly next to the scattered papers, gathering and reorganizing them. She swallowed a groan at the ache in her back, her shoulders, her ankles.

Rachel knelt next to her, picking up the papers and stacking them right-side up. Her hand hovered over the textbook; she flipped the cover shut and her eyes widened a little. "You're taking calculus?" she asked. The surprise was painfully evident in her voice, and Quinn felt a little of the good will she'd started to develop slip away. "I thought they didn't let juniors into the AP section."

"Don't sound so shocked," she muttered. "I was always pretty good at math. And anyways, my sister aced AP stats, which means I have to at least get a four on the stats _and _calculus exams."

"That's ridiculous," Rachel said. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"One-upmanship is a Fabray family tradition," Quinn grumbled. "Not that I really have to worry about that anymore, I guess." Taking a deep breath, fingers tight on the sheaf of papers in her hand, she pushed herself to her feet. She brushed absently at the skirt of her dress, where a few brave pieces of dirt from the classroom floor had attached themselves.

Rachel stood as well. She silently offered Quinn the papers she had gathered before retrieving the textbook as well. "It's impressive, is all," she said suddenly. "The calculus thing, that is. You must be more than 'pretty good' for them to waive that policy."

Quinn shrugged, too exhausted to pretend that the compliment didn't feel good. "Thank you," she said softly. She busied herself with meticulously re-checking the order of her notes before replacing them in her binder. She slipped the textbook and binder back into her bag slowly, then slowly pulled her coat on. Hefting her now-heavy bag over her shoulder, she turned to face Rachel once more.

"Thanks, Berry," she said with forced nonchalance.

"Of course," Rachel said, not flinching at Quinn's return to her surname. "Teammates, right?"

"Teammates," Quinn echoed. She felt a ghost of a smile flicker across her lips. "Right." Sliding the strap of her bag further up her shoulder, she pulled her coat tight around her stomach in preparation for the early Ohio winter waiting for her outside. "See you tomorrow," she said, waving slightly at Rachel without thinking about it. She shoved her hands into her coat pockets and walked out of the room.

She was halfway down the hall when Rachel's hurried footsteps echoed in her ears, and then Rachel appeared at her side, bundled up for the cold with an awkward look in her eyes.

"Do you want a ride to Finn's?" she asked. "It's beyond freezing out there."

Quinn opened her mouth to protest, out of habit, but couldn't summon the energy. "A ride would be great," she said. Her chin dipped towards the floor, the admittance in those three words opening the floodgates to the fatigue she had been fighting all day.

"Okay," Rachel said cheerfully. She started off on a tangent about glee and Broadway, her words falling on Quinn's deaf ears as they walked slowly to where Rachel's car sat.

The drive to Finn's house was short, and the warmth from the heater was just starting to radiate throughout the car. Quinn unbuckled her seatbelt slowly, reluctant to step out into the cold wind. She checked the buttons on her coat to stall.

"Thank you for the ride," she said.

"Anytime," Rachel said, her eyes as serious as they ever had been when talking about glee. Quinn nodded slowly, eyes locked on Rachel, as if she were surveying the offer. Then, with a tight smile, she opened the door and stepped out of the car.

The sound of her name halted her, and she bit her lip against the cold she was desperate to get out of; she obligingly leaned down to meet Rachel's eyes. The brunette fidgeted, fingers tapping on the steering wheel awkwardly.

"Yes?" Quinn said impatiently. "You do know that it's like four degrees outside of your toasty little hybrid, right?"

Rachel smiled apologetically. "Sorry," she said. "I was just… I mean, I was wondering…" she paused, and then took a deep breath. "Could you maybe help me study for my next pre-cal exam? I'm hopeless at it, and I really could use a good grade."

Quinn stared at her, mouth half-open. "I… what?" She shook her head, as if her ears were clogged.

"Can you tutor me for my math test?" Rachel said, speaking slowly. "You're clearly better at it than I am. I could even help you with your voice, if you want, as payment."

"I'm going to ignore that backhanded insult," Quinn said dryly. "But yeah, okay, I guess. Teammates, right?"

"Right," Rachel said. Quinn wondered if the flush in her cheeks was from the cold air seeping into the car, or embarrassment.

"Thanks again for the ride," Quinn said. It didn't sound nearly as forced to her ears as it had the first time around.

"You're welcome," Rachel said. She flashed a bright smile at Quinn. "See you tomorrow!"

Quinn nodded and straightened up, moving to shut the door to the car. She paused, and leaned back down, a comfortingly familiar smirk on her lips. "Just proved your analogy wrong again," she said. "What did Glinda ever do for Elphaba at school?"

Stepping back, she closed the car door with a subdued wave to Rachel. She could have sworn, as the door swung shut, that she heard Rachel's voice.

"What didn't she?"


	4. Chapter 4

Rachel actually was hopeless at math. Quinn wasn't sure why she had assumed that the other girl was just being modest in her self-depreciations—perhaps she really just did not know Rachel at all, or maybe she thought Rachel held herself to far too high a standard, or maybe she secretly hoped that Rachel was just trying to make Quinn feel better about her lousy situation by giving her excuses to focus on things she still did properly.

Regardless of why she was there, though, Quinn found herself marveling inwardly at Rachel's struggles with pre-calculus. Quinn remembered learning these trigonometric concepts long ago, and they made as much sense to her as anything ever had; she could hardly fathom the difficulties Rachel was having.

"Okay," Rachel breathed out tiredly. She drew a perfectly symmetrical square around the solution she'd come up with, sighed, and pushed the paper across the table to Quinn. The sound of her chair squeaking echoed throughout the empty library, drawing a half-hearted glare from the librarian on the other side of the room. The three of them were the only people there, the rest of the students in class or at lunch, the teachers in the lounges. Succumbing to the quiet ache in her stomach, Rachel took the moments of Quinn's inspection of her work to pull her lunch out of her backpack and dig into her tuna on rye with relish.

Quinn pulled the paper closer, eyes scanning over the impeccably neat steps Rachel had written out. After a few seconds, she looked up at Rachel with a slightly raised eyebrow. Rachel groaned, slumping back in her chair. A week of Quinn helping her with math had taught her more about reading Quinn's facial expressions than pre-calculus itself; this raised eyebrow differed drastically from how it looked when her eyebrow raised when Rachel had found the right answer, or when she couldn't understand how Rachel had gotten so far off track, or when she wanted to be anywhere but in the library during lunch with Rachel Berry and a stack of notes from a class she had taken over a year ago.

"What'd I do wrong?"

Quinn handed the paper back to her. "Here," she said quietly. She paused, determinedly tamping down on the wave of nausea rising from her stomach at the smell of Rachel's sandwich, before indicating to an equation midway through the problem with a bitten-down fingernail. "You just dropped the negative from the fraction."

Rachel groaned again and rolled her eyes. "This is ridiculous. I have absolutely no need for pre-calculus. I'll never use trigonometry in theater."

"Probably not," Quinn said absently. She sat back in her chair, arms crossed over her stomach and legs crossed primly, leaning as far back from the wafting scent of tuna as she could without tipping the chair back or losing her carefully-constructed casual posture. She clamped her jaw shut to suppress the nausea in her throat—an act of iron will and nothing more—and forced herself to focus on something else.

Across the table, Rachel had set aside her sandwich and was reworking the problem on a fresh sheet of paper. Quinn eyed her through half-lidded eyes. All week, she had foregone lunch with Finn and Brittany and Santana, even turning down offers from the rest of her glee teammates—who she had undoubtedly started to consider friends—so that she could come to the deserted library and help Rachel with her homework. As awkward as it had been the first few days, she had been surprised to find that it was hardly as uncomfortable as she might have expected. If, that is, she had ever imagined a scenario in which she would willingly tutor Rachel Berry, or even a scenario where Rachel Berry would ask for her help.

Rachel's high-strung personality was fascinating to Quinn. Always determined to be in control, Quinn nonetheless lost that control far too often; the child growing in her stomach and the way she had so often blindly followed the directions of Sue Sylvester proved it beyond a doubt. Rachel, on the other hand, seemed to have a will as strong as her voice. She knew what she wanted, she felt both that she knew what it took to get it and that she fit the bill, and she refused to let anything stop her.

She had seemed as surprised as Quinn had felt when their lunchtime tutoring sessions had fallen into an almost-comfortable rhythm after only a few days. Quinn had imagined that Rachel, even when dealing with Quinn on her own terms, would remain understandably wary of the former cheerleader; after all, they had never been friends before, and Quinn had never been one to spare the feelings of anyone she didn't consider a friend. While Quinn had never tossed a slushie at anyone, she had never stopped one from being thrown at someone she didn't count as a friend, either. The exclusion of Rachel Berry from her friends had been a matter of social necessity, where Quinn had found a comfortable and protected niche at the top and would have done anything to keep herself there.

And yet, there they sat together in what Quinn might even venture to call companionable silence while Rachel tried her math problem for the second time. Quinn could not, for the life of her, decipher why someone as goal-oriented and determined as Rachel had been so quick to forgive Quinn her transgressions in the past. The snarky nicknames and sneers that had plagued their every conversation since grade school seemed forgotten to Rachel; she never retaliated by throwing nicknames or cruel smirks Quinn's way, anymore than she seemed to consider the possibility of throwing a slushie at the blonde.

"Okay," Rachel said again. Her voice startled Quinn out of her contemplations, and she nearly tipped her chair backwards; the front legs slammed down onto the thinly-carpeted tile floor with a crack. Both the librarian and Rachel started as the sound echoed off the cheap metal shelving on the walls; Quinn flushed red and bit her lip. She hurriedly reached across and picked up Rachel's paper, holding it up in front of her as a nonchalant shield.

"Okay," she said after a few moments. She lowered the paper and raised an eyebrow at Rachel once more, this time with the addition of a small smile gracing her features. "You got it."

"Finally," Rachel said, relief evident in her voice. With a bright smile, she lofted her sandwich triumphantly. "I can't believe how difficult this stuff is," she said after swallowing a mouthful. "I mean, I'm plenty intelligent, I know that, but it's all just another language to me, you know? It's really impressive that you understand all this." She took another bite, half of the sandwich now gone.

Quinn stayed silent, fighting as much against the desire to vomit as she was to keep her face or posture from betraying the struggle. She lasted an impressive amount of time—in her mind, at least; she was fairly certain that Rachel made it through at minimum four fully-formed complaints about how unnecessary pre-calculus was for someone who would spend their life on stage—before she clapped a hand over her mouth, shoved back from the table, and sprinted out of the library and down the hall to the nearest bathroom. As she burst through the door and made it to a stall just before the remains of her meager breakfast escaped, she thanked God for Sue Sylvester and every wind sprint she had ordered of the Cheerios; she had never been so happy to have suffered through those drills, not even when she first realized that they gave her such fabulous legs, as she was then, when they allowed her to make it to the safety of the bathroom stall.

Once her stomach was empty, she slumped tiredly against the stall door behind her, legs trembling in fatigue. It was barely noon and she was exhausted; she wanted to just go home and sleep for the rest of the day, in a comfortable bed with a down comforter and six pillows and George Winston echoing in her ears as she drifted off.

Instead, she had a bathroom stall in a high school and the telltale burn of stomach acid in her throat and mouth. A disgusted sigh escaped her lips, and she automatically slipped one hand into the pocket of her jeans, retrieving the packet of gum she had taken to carrying with her once the morning sickness started. Popping a piece into her mouth and chewing fervently, she slowly made her way out of the stall. After checking her hair and straightening her sweater unnecessarily, she continued on her way out of the bathroom, only to jerk to a stop at the sight of Rachel standing beside the door in the hallway, arms crossed authoritatively and glaring at anyone who seemed that they might possibly even consider using that bathroom.

They stood in awkward silence for a few painfully long seconds. Rachel moved first, leaning down and picking up Quinn's backpack and jacket from where they rested on the floor next to her own. Quinn accepted them silently, knowing that her eyes were as grateful as they had to have been surprised. Pulling her jacket tightly around her stomach, she winced as the bell rang from directly above the bathroom door.

"Thank you," she said softly. She wondered if she should continue on; thanking someone like Rachel was hardly something she had the benefit of experience in.

"You're welcome," Rachel said, her voice as quiet as Quinn's had been. She seemed to be arguing with herself; Quinn bit her lip and considered what might happen if she broke down and asked if Rachel and her two doctor dads had a guest room with a big bed and a down comforter.

Then, Rachel's eyes flicked over Quinn's shoulder, and Quinn turned to see Quinn and Puck and Artie making their way down the hall towards them, laughing and waving. She turned back to Rachel, who was suddenly unreadable, and instead of speaking simply nodded at Rachel, pushed her hair behind her ear, and started off down the hallway to her physics class.


	5. Chapter 5

Finn managed a full week before he snapped. For six days after he first pummeled Puck on the choir room floor, he didn't say a single word to Quinn. She still slept in the small guest room at his house; his mother still spoke to her, and had been surprisingly kind about the entire situation; he still came to glee and practiced and sang and laughed with Kurt and Mercedes and Artie and Rachel (who, Quinn noted interestedly, always looked torn between Finn's smiles and the other side of the room where Puck and Quinn stood in their exile, with the surprising company of Santana and Brittany).

He never said a word to Quinn, but rather averted his eyes every time she tried to speak to him, and glared poisonously at her on the few occasions she spoke directly to Puck, even if it was just to ask him to move out of the way.

It was the Saturday after sectionals that he broke the silence, and Quinn found herself immediately wishing it had never been touched. She was in the basement, doing the laundry as a meager way to earn some of her keep, and he clattered down the stairs and leaned against the wall behind her. His brow was furrowed, arms crossed defensively over his chest, the troubled look so common on his features recently doubled, and he told her bluntly that he thought she should leave. He could wait for her to find somewhere else to stay, but he couldn't have her in his home anymore.

Behind him, at the top of the stairs, his mother stood wringing her hands. Quinn was surprised to see that she looked as torn then as Rachel did every time she found herself in the no-man's land of glee club between Finn and Quinn.

Quinn held onto the tiniest remaining shards of her pride and for once, since the test had first turned pink, didn't cry. She kept her back straight and shoulders from slumping as she packed her things, and thanked his mother three times, before she lugged her suitcase out of the house. The cold wind whipped around her, her ears immediately stinging, and she paused on the sidewalk to pull her coat tighter around herself. A few tears finally leaked out, tracing down towards her chin; the dampness felt like ice on her cheeks.

Numbly, she wondered if she was actually surprised to see Rachel's little blue hybrid sitting on the street in front of Finn's house, engine running. She stood unmoving, suitcase at her feet, absently debating her surprise as Rachel got out of the car and moved in front of her.

"He called me," she said. Her normally-strong voice was almost lost in the wind. "I already talked to Noah and Brittany, and both of them said you could stay with them if you want. I can give you a ride to wherever you want to go."

Quinn shook her head without meaning to, frustrated at the feel of more tears leaking out of her eyes. The world felt like it was spinning, her feet glued to a cyclical juggernaut and her sense of balance destroyed.

"Why?" she managed to force out.

"Why not?" Rachel said with a small smile. "Because you're our teammate. Because he's the father, and even if he wasn't, he cares about you. Because Brittany's perfectly nice when she's not following Sue or Santana. And," she added hesitantly. "Because you're our friend."

"I'm not anyone's friend," Quinn said. The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she felt a pang of self-loathing at how pathetic she sounded.

"That's not true," Rachel said. She reached out, gloved fingers wrapping around Quinn's elbow. "Come on, get in the car. You'll freeze out here."

With a gentleness that Quinn would never have imagined possible from someone so pushy, Rachel guided her into the passenger seat of the car, then got into her own seat. She tapped her gloved fingers on the steering wheel almost silently, as she waited for Quinn to make a decision.

Quinn stared at her hands, clenched tightly atop her knees. Even though she had only been outside for a minute at most, the unprotected skin over her fingers was bright red from the wind, her fingertips numb.

"Quinn," Rachel said finally. Quinn met her eyes slowly. "Where do you want to go?"

"I… don't know," Quinn mumbled. The thought of falling into the strength of Puck's arms was appealing beyond all belief, but laced with a feeling of continued betrayal of Finn; even if she had already broken his trust and his heart, she felt that maybe going to the place and person that felt most comfortable was more than she deserved after what she had done to him. Brittany really was sweet, as Rachel had said, but a constant reminder of who Quinn used to be; the idea of sleeping in the same house as the girl who Quinn was meant to be filled her with dread and she couldn't find it in her to put herself in that situation, even out of the misguided loyalty to Finn that was keeping her from Puck.

"I…could I…" she paused, ducking her eyes. She took a deep breath and forced herself to raise her head, to meet Rachel's inquisitive eyes from across the car. "You said a while ago that I could stay with you if I needed to. Could I maybe…?"

Rachel was silent, averting her eyes from Quinn's. For what felt like the longest time, Quinn sat with her breath caught in her throat, convinced that Rachel was going to rescind the offer.

"Sure," Rachel said eventually. "I'm sure my dads won't mind."

"Would _you_ mind?" Quinn asked. Rachel's approval suddenly felt more important than anything else in Quinn's world. All the math tutoring in the world could barely make up for how horrible Quinn had been to Rachel until glee and pregnancy and Quinn's fall from her pedestal, and she was sure that even if she turned Rachel into an astrophysicist, she could never have done enough for Rachel to be okay with Quinn staying at her house.

"Not at all," Rachel said, a warm smile gracing her lips. "It'll be like having a live-in tutor. I'm sure to ace pre-cal now."

Quinn tried to laugh, but the sound died in her throat; she instead managed a small smile and a murmured thanks to Rachel as they drove away.

Quinn sat silently the entire drive to Rachel's house, hands trembling in her lap. She was unable to formulate a single coherent word of thanks to Rachel's parents as they showed her the guest room and told her to make herself at home; she was similarly silent the rest of the day, as she lay curled up on the bed and watched the flakes of the first snow tumble down outside, desperately wanting to sleep and entirely unable to will herself into unconsciousness.

When Rachel came to check on her near dinner time, Quinn couldn't summon the energy to move. It wasn't until Rachel reappeared with a bowl of soup and a box of Triscuits that she could make herself sit up; even then, she only made it through half of the bowl.

"I won't stay here too long," she said suddenly. Her voice was hoarse from disuse. Rachel, not moving from her seat at the foot of the bed, shook her head. "And I'll find a way to get your parents rent money."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "Really. No one's ever in this room, and my dads really understand something about what you're going through. They won't ever ask you to leave. And there's no way they'll accept any money from you."

"It's not about that," Quinn said. "I told Puck I was going to do this on my own, and I am. I've hurt enough people already. I don't need to put anyone else out."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. You're not hurting anyone by staying here."

"I need to learn how to take care of things on my own," Quinn said stubbornly. "It's time I figure it out alone. Before the baby is born."

Rachel scoffed, but made her way over to the door, half-empty tray in hand. She paused, eyeing Quinn levelly. "You say you've hurt enough people already. That you need to do this yourself. Like that will make up for the hurt you've caused." She shook her head. "Why aren't you including yourself in the list of people you need to fix things with?"

Quinn felt a dozen protests rise to her lips, but they all died before they could be voiced. As strong as she wanted to be, she'd be lying if she said that she didn't want to forgive herself, even if the cross burning into her chest made her feel like she'd never deserve such forgiveness. She dropped her gaze to somewhere around Rachel's elbow, unable to manage Rachel's even gaze.

"Get some sleep, Quinn," Rachel said eventually. "You've got circles the size of a planet under your eyes."

Quinn's head shot up at the joking insult, a small blaze of infuriation blooming in her stomach, but it dissipated and shrank away at the small smile Rachel offered her. "Good night," Rachel said. "I'm down the hall if you need anything."

Quinn nodded. The pregnancy hormones made the shift from anger to overwhelming gratefulness far more dramatic than it should have been; her brief moment of rage swung suddenly into a thick feeling of gratitude, tears springing to her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Rachel was silent, offering only a reassuring nod and another small smile; she nudged the dimmer to the overhead light with her elbow until it was dark in the room and pulled the door shut behind her with her foot. Quinn sat in the dark, unmoving, and stared at the spot in the dark where Rachel had been standing. After a few seconds, she lay back down on the bed, pulling the thick comforter up over her shoulders. Lying on her side, she stared out the window once more at the snow, and drifted off to sleep within minutes.


	6. Chapter 6

It was snowing two days before Christmas. Quinn grumbled to herself about impolite weather patterns and people who stared blatantly at pregnant teenagers, and struggled with the handful of grocery bags in her arms as she tried to unlock the door to the Berry's house.

She had been staying with Rachel and her parents since Finn kicked her out. An unexpectedly comfortable routine had formed in the house, a compromise reached in which Quinn stopped insisting on finding a place of her own as soon as possible and instead tried to earn her keep through cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping. One of Rachel's dads, Eric, liked to joke that the house had never been so clean or organized (save for Rachel's room) the entire time they'd owned it and that it would revert to black hole status if Quinn left. David would roll his eyes at his husband and wink at Quinn; Rachel would scoff and tell Quinn that she really didn't need to strain herself with housework.

Quinn liked to feel like she was doing something for them. It made her feel like a little bit less of a failure.

"Crap," she mumbled as one of the bags slipped, the plastic dangerously close to ripping. Biting her lip, praying that it wouldn't burst before she got inside, she juggled the bags around to free up one hand to unlock the door. Just as she stuck the key into the lock, the door opened and Finn stood on the other side, coat in hand.

Quinn froze, her hand still extended to unlock the door, eyes wide. The strain in her muscles from the grocery bags was forgotten as she stared at Finn stupidly.

"Quinn," he mumbled. He blinked once, then twice, and then shook his head like a dog. "Here," he said, reaching out and taking a handful of the bags out of her hands. Silently, he carried them into the kitchen.

It took Quinn a full five seconds to uproot her feet from the front porch and follow him into the kitchen. She set the remaining bags on the counter and leaned back against it, arms wrapped as protectively as they could be around er stomach.

"Hey," she said after a long hesitation.

"Hey," he said.

"Been a while," she added.

"Yeah." He shifted his weight awkwardly. "I… well, I don't know. I feel kind of like I want to apologize, but I don't know if I did anything that I need to apologize for."

"You didn't," Quinn said softly. "I did. You didn't."

"I think I loved you," he burst out. His cheeks flushed red. "I don't know if it was love or not. But I think it was."

Quinn swallowed, biting her lip in a desperate attempt not to cry. "I know that I loved you," she whispered. "I know that much."

"But you chose him."

"No," Quinn said vehemently. "I made one drunken mistake with Puck. I _chose_ you." She wished desperately for some way to make him believe her, for support or backup or just one single person on her side who would make him listen.

"I don't know, Quinn," he said after a long pause. "I really don't know what to say to you." He shook his head. "Half the time I can barely look at you without wanting to hit something."

Quinn's resolve slipped, tears breaking free from her eyes and sliding down towards her chin.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, sniffling. "I wish I could make it better." Unconsciously, she fingered the cross around her neck. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself, but God, please, I hope you can forgive me someday."

He shook his head again, a pained look in his eyes. "I don't know if I can. I just don't know."

"Hey," Rachel snapped, appearing behind Quinn and making both Finn and Quinn jump in surprise. "That's crap and you know it," Rachel continued on, oblivious to their shock. "She made a mistake, Finn, and tried to keep it from spiraling too far out of control. She didn't make the best decisions, but she was trying to do the right thing for her child. She chose you to be the father because she thought you would be a better parent than Noah. She lied, but she did it with what you could really call the noblest intentions possible. If you can't forgive the mistakes she made trying to do that, then, well," she crossed her arms over her chest. "You're nothing of the man I thought you were."

Quinn and Finn stared dumbly at the little brunette. Finn's mouth hung open, his eyes gaping; Quinn's fingers still clutched at her cross, lower lip caught between her teeth as Rachel's word detailing her mistakes in perhaps the nicest way possible echoing in her head. Long seconds ticked by, in which Rachel glared at Finn, Finn stared at Rachel, and Quinn looked nervously back and forth between the two of them and wanted nothing more than to hide behind Rachel's diminutive form.

"You can go now," Rachel said suddenly to Finn. She jerked her chin towards the front door. "We'll see you when school starts back."

"I…okay," Finn muttered. Not meeting Quinn's eyes, he shuffled out of the house, jacket in hand.

Quinn stood still in her shock in the kitchen, staring at Rachel. The brunette finally looked at her, and Quinn felt an all-too-familiar twinge of guilt at the exhausted look in Rachel's eyes.

"Thank you," she said softly, finally unwrapping her fingers from her cross.

"He's my friend," Rachel said slowly. "And he's a good guy. But he's a little too accustomed to being the victim in this, I think." She sighed, pushing her hair behind her ears. She nodded at Quinn shortly, a tight smile on her lips, and disappeared down the stairs.

Quinn watched her go, feeling inexplicably like she had just missed something very important. After a long pause, she forced herself to turn away from the empty stairwell. Exhaling slowly through her nose, she set to shelving the boxes of cereal she'd bought.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time New Year's rolled around, Quinn had stopped even her casual mentions of finding her own place. The guest room had become her own, the few knick knacks and photos she'd packed from her parents' house spread out around the room. A framed picture of the glee club, from after sectionals, sat on her bedside table—all of them crowded around where Quinn sat in Artie's lap, the two of them hoisting the trophy above their heads—beside the worn Book of Common Prayer she had received at her confirmation ceremony, the folded up picture from her first sonogram tucked inside the front cover.

She had tried to talk to Rachel about the confrontation with Finn several times, only to have been shut down repeatedly, the conversation changed to dinner plans, or the list of songs Rachel was going to give to Mr. Schuester that she felt could help them win Regionals. Eventually, Quinn let her questions simmer on the back burner of her mind, forcing herself to instead focus on more pressing matters. A job, rent money, the possibility of college all filled her mind; surprisingly enough, after only a day of trying to focus on something besides Rachel's unprecedented outburst at Finn, Quinn had lost herself in other concerns.

"Hey," Rachel said, startling Quinn from where she sat pensively at her small desk, leafing through the stack of college brochures she'd taken from the college fair a year earlier. "I'm craving Thai food. Do you want to come?"

"What?" Quinn muttered distractedly. She shoved the brochures under a stack of textbooks. "I mean… yeah, sure, that sounds good." She pushed herself to her feet, biting back a wince as best she could at the twinge in her back.

The drive to the other side of town was filled with Rachel chattering away. Over the past months, Quinn had become adept at half-listening to the other girl, picking up every other sentence whilst tuning out the rest; it made the brunette far easier to handle. As Rachel went on about the upcoming second half of glee's season, Quinn stared out the window at the passing scenery, dirty snow plowed to the side of the roads speeding by.

Her thoughts segued back towards the brochures she'd been looking at; she wondered if there was any way she could still manage college. Were her grades good enough for the schools she'd always wanted to go to? Were they good enough for scholarships? If she kept the baby—and only a small part of her dared consider such a thought; she was _too young_ and _not ready_—could she juggle classes and childrearing?

Rachel whipped her car haphazardly into a spot in the restaurant parking lot. Quinn, pulled back to the present by the music stopping as Rachel shut off the car, exited the car slowly, following Rachel's bouncing form into the restaurant. She remained silent as they were seated and a waiter set menus in front of them.

"Quinn," Rachel said sharply.

Quinn shook her head, looking up from the menu she'd been staring at blankly. "What?"

"What's wrong?" Rachel asked, her tone softening. She shut her own menu, folding her hands over top of it and leaning towards Quinn slightly. Quinn felt suddenly anxious, trapped in the full attention of Rachel Berry's infamously singular focus.

"I'm fine," Quinn said evenly. She forced a smile and quirked an eyebrow at her friend—because sometime, they'd become more than teammates, more than housemates, more than a girl and the peer she was doing a favor for—before turning back to her menu.

"Come on, Quinn," Rachel said. "You've barely said two words this whole time."

"Well, not all of us have the energy to talk at two hundred words a minute," Quinn said good naturedly. She smirked at Rachel, who merely rolled her eyes before honing back in on Quinn, dark eyes staring intently across the table.

"Seriously," Rachel said softly. "Give me some credit, okay? I've lived with you for almost two months now. It's not hard to tell when something's bothering you. And we both know how well things turn out when you try to bottle everything up, so why don't you just tell me what's bothering you?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, shooting an annoyed glance at Rachel. Possibly the most infuriating thing about having Rachel as a friend was that she was right a disturbing percentage of the time.

"College," she said quietly. She abandoned the menu—which she had discovered she didn't really understand anyways; Rachel apparently had found the one authentic Thai restaurant in all of Ohio—and rested her forehead on her fist, propping her head up tiredly.

"What about it?" Rachel asked. She mirrored Quinn's pose, the picture of friendly curiosity.

Quinn shrugged, sighing. "Everything, I guess," she said slowly. "It was always a given, you know? Both my parents went to college. All of my grandparents. My sister went to Brown. It was expected, you know?" She paused as Rachel nodded, taking a deep breath. "But now… nothing's really a given anymore, is it? I don't know if I'll be able to keep my grades up this semester, and I don't know if I'll get into any of the schools I always thought I'd get to choose from, and even if I did I don't have the money for them. And I don't even know how I could manage college with a kid—"

She cut herself off, clapping one hand over her mouth. Rachel stared at her, moving slowly to sit back in her chair, hands folded in her lap. Neither spoke for the longest time. Quinn wished fervently that she could step back just those few seconds in time and stop herself from speaking; she had barely acknowledged to herself that she might want to keep the baby, much less admit it to anyone else.

"Do you want to keep her?" Rachel asked gently.

Quinn's breath caught in her throat, her heart beating painfully. _Her_. Not once had someone referred to the baby as _her_; Quinn herself had determinedly kept referring to her as "it" or "the baby", convinced that if she acknowledged the humanity growing in her stomach, she'd never have the strength to give the baby up.

"Her," she whispered. Her voice was barely audible, her hand still half over her mouth. The pronoun felt heavy on her tongue, as if the weight of the little girl in her stomach was carried with it. Slowly, she let her hand fall, looking up to meet Rachel's gaze. "I don't know," she whispered. "I think I might."

Rachel nodded slowly, pushing her hair back and reaching forward to fiddle with the napkin in front of her awkwardly. "Well," she said eventually. "You don't have to make that decision right now, do you? You've got time."

"I guess so," Quinn said. She stared at a spot on the wall behind Rachel's shoulder, unable to keep from being distracted by a daydream of holding hands with a little girl with the same blonde curls and green eyes.

"What schools do you want to go to?" Rachel asked after a few seconds, pulling Quinn out of her daydream.

"What?"

"College," Rachel said. "What colleges do you want to apply to?"

Quinn huffed out a sigh, slumping back in her chair. "It's going to sound stupid now," she muttered. "None of them will take a knocked up ex-cheerleader."

"That's crap," Rachel snapped, her voice loud enough to grab the attention of both the surrounding patrons of the restaurant and the waiter who had neglected them thus far; he scrambled over apologetically, offering them water refills and insisting on taking their order. Rachel, with a nod of acquiescence from Quinn, ordered for them both, shoving the menus into his hands and hurrying him off on his way.

"Seriously," she said as soon as the waiter was gone. "You've got really good grades, you're very smart. Why wouldn't you get into college?"

"Oh, I could get into college," Quinn said sullenly. "Lima Technical Community College would love to have me."

"That's not what I asked," Rachel said. "Where do you _want_ to go? What schools did you always think you'd go to?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, not for the first time wishing that Rachel—even with all she'd done for Quinn, for the surprisingly good friend she had turned out to be—was a little less pushy. Rachel continued to stare at her expectantly, eyes wide, from across the table, until Quinn sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Stanford," she mumbled. "Duke. Columbia. Georgetown."

Rachel's eyebrows rose a little more with each school Quinn listed out. "Wow," she murmured, propping her chin in her hand and staring at Quinn appraisingly. Quinn felt a small bit of dread forming in her stomach, recognizing the look in Rachel's eyes. It was the same one she got when she decided that one of the dance steps in glee's choreography needed to change, or when she decided that the whole household was going to sit down to play Monopoly "as a family", or when she came to the conclusion that Quinn spent too much time on her own and needed to join her and Brittany and Tina and Artie on a trip to the movies. It was the look she got when she was scheming, as Quinn had taken to describing it, and it never seemed to end in anything but frustration and defeat for Quinn.

"No," Quinn said sharply. "Rachel, no. I'm not one of your projects. This isn't some cause for you to pick up."

"Why not? Rachel said. Her eyes were bright, as they always were when she found a new project. "Come on, think about it. We both know you've got the brains, and I've got plenty of planning and organizing capabilities. I can help you keep your grades up this semester, and help you do the necessary research into scholarship and student loans and fellowship programs, and we can make sure you at least get phone interviews, because I know you can ace those, and—"

"Hey," Quinn interrupted. "Career planner. Time out." She fixed a stern glare on Rachel, not blinking until Rachel clamped her mouth shut, teeth coming together in an audible click.

"Okay," Quinn said slowly. "Firstly, I don't know if my grades are even enough for any of these schools. Secondly, I highly doubt that even if they are, they'd be enough for scholarships. Thirdly, I clearly haven't really figured out yet what I want to do about this baby, which is something I think I need to decide first. And lastly, I am _not_ your pity project, nor am I your new hobby."

Rachel looked down, having the grace to look properly sheepish. "Sorry," she mumbled, smiling a little guiltily up at Quinn. "I guess I went a little off there."

"Only a lot," Quinn said, unable to keep a small smile off of her lips. She took a sip of water, her smile widening as Rachel smiled back.

The waiter reappeared, setting their food down in front of them. Quinn prodded at some kind of dumpling on her plate, slightly dubious about the edibility of it; she put off discerning what it was composed of by looking back up at Rachel, who was biting into a dumpling of her own.

"Do you really think I could get in?" she asked abruptly.

Rachel chewed and swallowed her food, looking at Quinn thoughtfully. "Third in the class, right?" she asked.

Quinn nodded, looking down at her plate in an attempt to keep some sense of humility.

"What's your GPA?" Rachel asked matter-of-factly.

Quinn looked back up at her, one eyebrow raised. She should have known that Rachel wouldn't be able to have a casual answer to the question; surely, she knew the brunette that well by now. Releasing a small sigh of defeat, Quinn answered, "Three eight."

Rachel nodded silently. Quinn thought she saw an impressed glint in Rachel's eyes, but bit down on her lower lip, telling herself not to read too much into anything.

"SAT?"

"2250," Quinn answered. She rolled her eyes mockingly at Rachel, giving in. "And I'm taking AP calculus BC, English, US history, and economics right now. Next year, I'll take AP stats, English lit, world history, and psych."

Rachel's eyebrows rose even further, before she smirked as well, turning back to her food. "Yeah," she said after a few bites of food had disappeared. "I think you can get in."

Quinn couldn't help a small swell of pride from rising in her throat, or a pleased smile from spreading across her lips.

"Seriously," Rachel said suddenly. "You are a total brain. It's almost geeky."

"Hey," Quinn said, voice sharp. "I am _not_ geeky."

"Hey, don't blame me," Rachel said, holding up her hands defensively. "It's a simple fact. You take an abnormally high amount of very difficult, high-pressure classes. You get very good grades in them. You have extremely high test scores. And," she added with a smirk. "You're in _glee club_."

She sat back, crossing her arms triumphantly across her chest. "Quinn Fabray," she announced. "You are a _geek_."

"I am not," Quinn said indignantly. "And seriously, where do you get off calling anyone a geek, miss I-have-a-scrapbook-for-every-musical-I've-ever-seen?"

"Making a scrapbook for a trip with my parents is not geeky," Rachel said. Her eyes narrowed at the challenge. "Besides, you seem to know more about _Wicked_ than even me."

"Only the book!" Quinn said quickly. Her brow furrowed as she leaned forward, the same competitive spirit that had made her captain of the Cheerios and pushed her to con Sue out of a page in the yearbook surging to the forefront. "You have an itemized list about why Eliza Doolittle is the 'epitome of the perfection found in flawed humanity'."

"You color code your study guides."

"You have a pro and con spreadsheet for every song you've ever considered using in audition."

"You get a very particular and happy smile when you calculate a derivative in your head."

"You can name every actress who's ever played Elphaba on the stage, even for the tour. _And_ the understudies!"

"You…" Rachel paused. Quinn held her breath, sitting back from the table and looking at Rachel sideways. Rachel sighed, tossing her hands up in defeat. "Okay, good point."

"Ha!" Quinn said. She crossed her arms over her chest smugly, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a practiced manner. "Victory is sweet."

"Don't get used to it," Rachel warned. She left a few bills on the table for the check, climbing to her feet and pulling her coat on.

"Don't be a sore loser," Quinn said loftily, shaking her head. She pushed herself to her feet, and the smile on her lips vanished as a sharp stab of pain lanced through her lower back, the muscles protesting the movement. A quiet gasp pushed past her lips, one hand going to her lower back and tears springing to her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asked, her voice bordering on frantic. She materialized next to Quinn, concern burned across her features, one hand hovering over Quinn's elbow, as if the blonde might topple over at any second.

"It's nothing," Quinn ground out. "Just muscle cramps. This whole pregnancy thing is killing my back." Stubbornly, she pulled her hand away from her back, forcing herself to stand up straight. "It's just a cramp. It'll go away."

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked nervously, hand still hovering over Quinn's elbow. "Do you need to go to the obstetrician?"

"No," Quinn said. She forced a smile. "Really, Rachel, don't worry. It's just a cramp. I used to get them all the time in the Cheerios. They're manageable."

As if to prove that she was fine—prove to exactly whom, she was unsure—Quinn shrugged into her coat and led Rachel out of the restaurant. Rachel hovered directly behind Quinn, matching her steps, as if shadowing her would make everything alright if Quinn suddenly collapsed.

Once they made it to the car, Quinn came to a quick halt. Rachel, as focused as she was on catching Quinn if she suddenly pitched backwards, bumped into her back. The blonde turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised imperiously, the haughty look belied by the quiet smile on her lips. Rachel flushed and ducked her head, making her way to the driver's side of the car as she fumbled with her keys.

"If you want, when we get home, I can give you a massage," Rachel offered awkwardly. Her gloved hands struggled with the keys, her cheeks still flushed. "I took a class one summer. It might help." She finally located the remote for the car, mashing her thumb over the unlock button.

"Strange, isn't it?" Quinn said from the other side of the car. She regarded Rachel levelly, eyes unreadable, over the roof of the car. "I bet you never imagined you'd be so concerned about catching me if I fell."

Rachel blinked, unable to find a response to voice, as Quinn lowered herself into the car. Slow seconds ticked past before she could make herself uproot her feet and slip into the car herself. Quinn was already seated and strapped in; Rachel clumsily buckled her own seat belt and started the car. The drive home was broken only by the soft sound of the soundtrack from _My Fair Lady_.

At home, Quinn took Rachel up on the proffered massage. Within minutes, Quinn had fallen asleep on her side. Rachel moved to the chair at Quinn's desk and sat, staring pensively at the sleeping blonde. She didn't move until the sound of the garage door signified that one of her parents was home; the sun had long since set, and Quinn hadn't yet awoken.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: It's rather fabulous how much you can get done when you don't want to work on actual _work_. Or graduate school applications. Triple update = triple word score, yes?

Yes.

* * *

The Saturday before school started, Rachel dragged Quinn out with Tina and Brittany for the afternoon. Quinn had, in her renewed determination to get into a good university, taken to studying a disgusting amount of the time (and taking over Rachel's elliptical in the process), and needed to get out into some sunshine.

Also, Rachel had added with a smirk, she was about to start _really_ showing and desperately in need of a trip to the maternity store. Quinn, in response, had glared at her, but allowed herself to be levered out of her chair and pulled downstairs to where Brittany was cheerfully trying to teach Tina a cheer.

Afterwards, arms laden down with shopping bags—none of which Rachel, nor Brittany, nor even Tina had allowed Quinn to pay for, all of them kindly (or, in Rachel's case, bluntly) reminding her that she was sixteen, jobless, and pretty much broke—Rachel and Quinn had parted ways with the others, returning home tiredly.

"Ugh," Quinn said, dropping back into the chair at her desk and toeing her boots off. "My feet are killing me."

"Wimp," Rachel said good-naturedly. She stood with her back to Quinn, unloading and sorting out the clothes they had bought. Quinn watched with a raised eyebrow as Rachel separated the clothes into stacks of shirts, pants, dresses, and sweatpants, and then proceeded to organize each stack by color.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a wee bit anal retentive?" Quinn asked. She tipped her chair back on two legs, propping the back against the edge of her desk, and let her head fall back to stare at the ceiling.

"As a matter of fact, no. Never." Rachel glanced over her shoulder, her eyes amused. "Did you just say 'wee'?"

"As a matter of fact, I certainly did not," Quinn said, not moving her eyes from the ceiling. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She smiled unwittingly, glad that her face was turned up to the ceiling.

"Uh huh," Rachel said. "Whatever you say. And don't mock my organizational patterns. This way, when you want _this_ particular blue shirt, you'll know exactly where it will be when you need it."

"If you say so," Quinn said. She tilted her head back down, smirking. "Far be it from me to argue."

"Well, that's a first," Rachel said snidely. She stuck her tongue out at Quinn before pirouetting back to face the stacks of clothes she was organizing.

"Rachel, you don't need to put away my clothes," Quinn said after a minute of watching Rachel's color-coding. "I can do that."

"Don't be silly," Rachel said. "You need to stay off your feet for a few minutes. Relax. It's not like you haven't been doing my laundry for the last two months."

"Rach, seriously," Quinn said. Dropping the front legs of the chair back down softly, Quinn climbed to her feet and wrapped a hand around Rachel's elbow. "You really don't need to—"

"Maybe I want to," Rachel mumbled. Her hands, still gripping a yellow blouse, stilled. Quinn blinked, her brow furrowed.

"What?"

"Maybe I want to," Rachel said louder. She quickly folded the shirt and added it to its proper place in the pile before turning to face Quinn, chin up and shoulders back. "Maybe I want to do something for you."

Quinn shook her head, rubbing one hand over her eyes. "You're kidding, right?" she said frankly. "Rachel, you're letting me stay in your home. A roof over my head, food to eat, a ride to school. You're even buying me clothes. Why would you think that you need to do anything else for me?"

"That's all my parents," Rachel mumbled. Her determination seemed to falter, chin dropping and shoulders slumping. "Their house, their food, their money."

"So?" Quinn said. "Rachel, they're _devoted_ to you." She paused, taking a deep breath and praying that her voice didn't actually crack as much as she had imagined; every time she saw Rachel's fathers dote on her as lovingly as they did, she smiled, but it made her chest hurt and she missed her family more than ever. "There's no way I'd be here if _you_ hadn't brought me here, and _you_ weren't okay with it."

"I was going to ask you to leave," Rachel blurted out. Her cheeks flushed darkly and her eyes seemed incredibly bright to Quinn; she couldn't tell if there were actual tears forming in them or not. Quinn simply stood there, hand still on Rachel's elbow; her fingers slipped numbly, her arms falling to her side. Rachel started pacing up and down the small room, wringing her hands together.

"It was when Finn came by, before Christmas," she said. She spoke quickly, the words almost running together. Quinn continued to stand silently, staring down at her shoes. "He came to bring me a Christmas gift, and asked if I wanted to go with him and his family to his uncle's cabin for New Year's, and said that he wanted to go out with me but didn't know if he could manage to be with me when I was living with you. And he kissed me and it was everything I thought I'd wanted, you know? And I told him I'd think about it, but then there was that whole fiasco in the kitchen and he was such a _jerk_ and… and I changed my mind." She jerked to a halt, turning to face Quinn, eyes wide and afraid.

"And I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm pretty sure we're friends now, and I don't want you to leave." She twisted her hands together, shifting her weight back and forth nervously. "I'm sorry. I wanted to make it up to you."

"By folding my clothes?" Quinn said, her voice dull. She lifted her chin, finally meeting Rachel's eyes.

"Well, it was a start," Rachel said. She smiled cautiously, taking a step towards Quinn. "I was also going to propose a movie night and let you watch _The Princess Bride_, even though I still think Carey Elwes looks like a frog."

Quinn laughed half-heartedly. Carefully, she perched on the edge of the bed, unconsciously careful to avoid mussing any of the piles of meticulously ordered clothing. "He wants you to choose?" she said eventually. "Between being my friend and being his girlfriend?"

"Yeah," Rachel said. She sat down at Quinn's desk, hands clasped in her lap. "Kind of an asshole thing to do."

"He's not an asshole," Quinn said softly. She smiled a little crookedly at Rachel. "Finn's a good guy. He's just… he's hurt. I hurt him, and I get that he kind of hates me now. I don't blame him."

"He needs to grow up," Rachel said. "You made a mistake, but _everyone_ makes mistakes."

Quinn shrugged. "I hurt him," she repeated. "Badly. It'll take him a long time to get over it." She looked back up at Rachel. "I know you like him," she said quietly. "You should go out with him." She pointedly ignored the feeling of nausea at the thought of him with anyone else—even someone who she knew would both be good for him and take care of him, someone she considered a friend. He was her first love, after all; the idea of him moving on was simply painful.

"No!" Rachel said vehemently. "No way. Not after all that."

"He hasn't changed, Rach," Quinn said. She ignored the nausea—she'd become adept at doing so, given the morning sickness—and told herself that it made sense that part of being a better person, a person a little girl would be proud to call a mother, involved doing something like telling her friend that it was perfectly fine to go after her ex-boyfriend. "He's still the same guy that you had a crush on, minus the baby drama and bitchy girlfriend. Don't let me keep you from him."

"You're not," Rachel said firmly. "He is. He's being a jerk, and I don't want to date a jerk."

"You dated _Puck_."

"Hey, you're the one who _slept_ with him," Rachel shot back. She smirked when Quinn rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. "Besides, you know that Noah's not really a jerk at all. Once you get past all the bravado, he's just like Finn at heart." She paused, a thoughtful look in her eyes. "With better hair. I don't think I'll ever understand why that mohawk is so appealing."

Quinn laughed without meaning to, shaking her head slowly. "Who knows," she said, giggling slightly. She could hardly disagree; even before the fat day and the wine coolers, she had always harbored an unwanted but unbelievably intense attraction to Puck.

"But seriously," Rachel said, her eyes somber. "I don't want to date anyone who asks me to choose between him and my friend. Maybe one day in the future, when he sorts things out, we can give it a try. But not now." She smiled widely at Quinn, who gazed back at her thoughtfully; Rachel's smile slipped slightly. "We are friends, right?"

Quinn barked out a short laugh. "Yeah, Berry," she said with a smile. "We're friends."

"So on Monday you're not going to start calling me RuPaul and pushing me into lockers again?"

"No," Quinn said softly. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought. She forced herself to look back up, meeting Rachel's eyes. "Rachel, I'm… I'm sorry about all of that."

"Don't," Rachel said. "In the past, moved on, beyond that. Besides," she added. "If I was still bothered by it, I could console myself with the knowledge that for most of last semester while you were calling me stubbles, your boyfriend was pining after me." She smiled widely at Quinn, who sighed, shaking her head but smiling indulgently nonetheless.

"Okay," Rachel said. She clapped her hands once, springing to her feet. "So, movie night?"

"Sounds good," Quinn said. She climbed to her feet, following Rachel's bouncing form out of the room and down the stairs. "We're still watching _The Princess Bride_, by the way," she added to Rachel's back.

"Aw, come on," Rachel wheedled. "I came clean and apologized! Can't we watch something else?"

"No way," Quinn said, shaking her head. "My movie tonight. It's happening."

Rachel wrinkled her nose. "He looks like a frog."

"You look like a frog," Quinn tossed over her shoulder as they parted ways, Quinn to the living room and Rachel to the kitchen to make popcorn.

"Do not!"

"Little bit," Quinn said resolutely as she cued up the movie and settled on the couch. "Don't put any butter on it!"

"Your movie, my popcorn. It's happening." Rachel appeared in the living room, a bowl of popcorn in her hands. Quinn wrinkled her nose at the smell of microwaved butter as Rachel dropped down onto the couch next to her and sat the popcorn on the table in front of them.

"God, he looks like a frog," Rachel mumbled ten minutes into the movie.

"Shut it," Quinn shot back. "And he does not."

"You're right," Rachel said. She grabbed a handful of popcorn. "More like a toad."

"Berry, I swear to God, there _will _be a smackdown in this house if you don't shut up and enjoy this movie."

"Please, I can take you."

"You wish," Quinn said. "I've got Santana in my corner. You really want to mess with _her_?"

"I… no." Rachel shook her head. "Good point." She meekly ate the popcorn in her hand, turning back to the movie; Quinn smirked and returned her own attention to the screen.

An hour later, the popcorn was gone and Carey Elwes was wrestling with a rat the size of a great Dane. Rachel had her nose wrinkled in disgust—she hated rats—and Quinn had fallen asleep, her head pillowed on Rachel's legs. She had laid down at Rachel's insistence half an hour earlier, after struggling to find a comfortable position that didn't hurt her back; Rachel had coaxed her into stretching out on the couch and had set to work at the knots in her shoulders until the blonde had dropped off. The massage class she had taken two years ago was finally being put to use, now that she knew about the stiffness in Quinn's back; she had taken to cajoling Quinn into setting aside her pride and letting Rachel massage the knots out of her back almost every evening since she first found out about them at the Thai restaurant.

Rachel looked away from the movie, down at Quinn's sleeping form, and carefully reached behind her to pull a blanket off of the back of the couch and spread it over her. Turning down the volume, she returned her attention to the movie (she didn't _really_ hate Carey Elwes all that much); one hand rested protectively over Quinn's stomach, the other unconsciously stroking gently along her blonde hair.


	9. Chapter 9

Glee in January was a frustrating mix of comfort—a newfound balance and friendship binding Quinn to Rachel and Tina and Mercedes and Artie, and a renewed loyalty to and from Santana and Brittany—and awkwardness—with every shared glance Quinn hurriedly looked away from with Puck, and every heart-wrenching moment when Finn would let his eyes skate right over her to the next person. The first two weeks of the semester brought a foot of powdery snow and Dave Karofsky renewing his efforts in demolishing the self-esteem of anyone associated with the glee club.

Quinn found herself being sheltered unquestionably by her friends in glee, rarely walking the halls alone between classes; she suspected that Rachel had something to do with the escorts she was silently granted between every class. The brunette had, as their tentative friendship had grown, become unwaveringly protective of Quinn. Their friendship had taken half of their peers by surprise when school had come back into session; Mr. Scheuster had watched with raised eyebrows as they sat comfortably next to one another and conversed with Brittany and Santana, and Finn had taken to glaring at Quinn with a look that teetered between anger and hurt, and Puck had done a double take the first time he saw them walking into glee together and laughing. Afterwards, as they fell into a comfortable rhythm that found them almost inseparable from Santana and Brittany, he had taken to good-natured smirks and comments about lesbian foursomes. Kurt had been quietly ecstatic, as if the fact that Rachel and Quinn were now friends meant that he now had a shot with an almost-heartbroken Finn.

As January slid into February, Quinn finally started to move past the morning sickness, and into the maternity clothes that she had bought on her shopping trip before the semester started. Though she had never been one to color-code her clothes (her notes, perhaps, but only because those were far more important, though she would never admit such thinking aloud), she still found herself returning her laundry to the closet and drawers in the same order that Rachel had put them in initially.

A week before Valentine's Day, Puck cornered her after glee. After that one painful afternoon when Finn punched Puck and Quinn asked him to let her manage alone, he had done well at respecting her wishes, hovering on the periphery of the pregnancy in a somewhat annoying but wonderfully comforting manner. The seeds of what might be a friendship—as tentative as hers and Rachel's had been only a few months earlier—were there, and Quinn quietly reveled in the calming knowledge that at least a few things were starting to fall into place for them.

"I gotta know," he said immediately, as soon as they were alone in the hallway. "Are you still going to give this kid to Mr. Scheu's wife?"

Quinn stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded. Not a second after she had found out how truly unbalanced Terri Scheuster was, Quinn had made up her mind that she could never give her child to such a person. The last glee practice of the last semester, after which Mr. Scheu had pulled Quinn aside and explained in that maddeningly calm way of his that his wife was a loony toon, had been the first time Quinn had allowed to herself to imagine a little girl with blonde curls and green eyes.

"What?" she said. "No way."

"Really?" His shoulders slumped in relief, and he let out a long breath, a relieved grin on his lip. "Thank God. I hear she's nuts."

"A little bit," Quinn said. "No, I'm not giving her to… that woman."

"Her?" he said softly. His eyes widened a little under his Mohawk, and Quinn wondered suddenly if she had ever told him that it was a girl. She had always assumed that Finn had told him, but suddenly she doubted that assumption. "It's a girl?"

The soft look in his eyes clenched Quinn's heart, her stomach cramping painfully. Now more than ever—more than when he had babysat with her, more than when they had thrown brownie batter cheerfully at one another, more than when he had sworn to her that he wouldn't be like his own father—she remembered why she had let herself fall into his arms that one night. It hadn't been that she was so drunk she thought he was Finn, or so drunk that simply didn't care; no, it had been a bad cheerleading practice and Rachel Berry edging in on her boyfriend and a single disastrous weigh-in, and Puck watching out for her at a party when no one else cared, and Puck offering to drive her home, and Puck looking at her with a sad and soft look in his eyes before he kissed her cheek and told her that she was beautiful and then blushed and started off to find his keys.

"Yes," Quinn whispered. For the first time, she honestly felt like maybe she could do this with him at her side, in her life. Momentarily, she let herself slip into the now-familiar daydream of holding the hand of a little girl with her blonde curls; this time, the girl had Puck's eyes and he appeared in the daydream, grabbing their daughter around the waist and swooping her up onto his shoulders, one hand holding her in place and the other wrapping around Quinn's lower back as he kissed her cheek.

The daydream shattered when the door to the practice room opened behind Puck and Finn walked out, coming to a sharp halt when he saw the two of them standing across the hall. His eyes narrowed momentarily, but then he shrugged and shuffled off silently, and Quinn felt her chest clench painfully. She remembered why she was living with the Berrys now instead of Puck, why she had kept herself from running back to his arms in the first place. Finn might be upset by her being friends with Rachel now, but Quinn was certain that it would be far worse in his eyes if she let herself find any sense of comfort and family in his former best friend.

"It's a girl," Quinn said, forcing an edge to her voice that hurt her throat. "Not some little boy that you can give a Mohawk and play football with and teach to turn a pool-cleaning business into a way to get laid." The pain in her chest doubled, and she swore to herself that neither of them deserved happiness yet—for Finn's sake, because he really was a wonderful guy and they both really had screwed up—and that alienating Puck was possibly the only chance that either of them had at fixing theirs betrayals regarding Finn.

"Hey," he said defensively. "That's bull. That's not what I meant."

"I'm sure," Quinn snapped. She looked anywhere but his face, knowing that if she took in the wounded look in his eyes one more time she would crumble; she spun on the heel of her shoe and took off down the hallway, hands resting on her stomach protectively and tears burning at her eyes.

"Hey!" he said again. He chased after her, long strides eating up the distance between them impossibly quickly. His hand wrapped around her elbow in a surprisingly gentle grip, pulling her around to face him. "Quinn," he said.

Her resolve faltered at the sound of her name; he so rarely referred to anyone by name that it sounded almost foreign in his voice. She looked up at him, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"Don't," she whispered. Her voice was thick with the tears she was trying valiantly to restrain. "Please. It has to be this way."

"Why?" he said urgently.

"Because I screwed up," she said. "I hurt so many people. I hurt him so badly, and the worst thing I could do would be to be happy with you, because that makes the betrayal complete. I can't do that to him."

"That's bullshit," he said. "You don't get to be happy? That's bullshit."

Her fingers drifted up to the cross hanging around her neck. "It has to be this way," she said again. "I'm sorry. I'm not giving her to Terri Scheuster, but this is how it has to be."

"That's not fair," he said. The wounded look in his eyes vanished, replaced by anger. "What about me? Your jacked up sense of repentance is screwing me over, too." He let go of her arm, throwing up his arms angrily and starting to pace. She watched him silently, still gripping her necklace, and wished desperately for Rachel or Santana or Brittany to walk around the corner and break up the tension.

He paused in his pacing, facing her with tense shoulders. "You always choose him," he said, his voice tight. "What's a guy got to do to compete with the one who can't forgive anyone for when they screw up?"

Shaking his head angrily, he slammed his fist into a locker, the sound echoing up and down the empty hallway, and strode off. Quinn slumped back against the wall, fingers shaking. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her hands, and then took a second, and a third, and then a fourth. Finally feeling stable enough on her feet to walk, trying her hardest to ignore the ache in her chest, she started down the hallway towards the parking lot where she had parked her car that morning. She and Rachel had taken to splitting the drives to school by week, and she had to struggle for a moment to remember which car she was looking for.

Rachel was waiting for her by the car, arms crossed tightly across her chest against the cold. "Finally," she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "It's freezing out here."

Quinn nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak. She fumbled for her keys, digging them out of her backpack. Rachel watched her quietly, brow furrowed.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Quinn nodded again. She finally found her keys, yanking them free from where they were caught on one of her notebooks. Rachel reached out and wrapped one hand around hers, stilling her from finding the proper key. "Quinn," she said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Quinn muttered. Her voice lacked any semblance of conviction, not even convincing to her own ears.

"Yeah, like I'm going to believe that," Rachel said. She squeezed Quinn's hand gently, not letting go. "What's wrong?"

Quinn shook her head, tilting her head back to look at the cloudy sky above her. "Puck," she said finally.

"What about him?"

"He wanted to know if I was still going to give the baby to Terri Scheuster." She dropped her head back forward. She let her eyes close, trying and failing to hold back the tears that had yet to really stop from forming since her conversation with Puck. "And then… he got mad when I told him I still couldn't be with him."

"Why can't you?" Even with her eyes closed, Quinn knew that Rachel's brow was furrowed once more.

"Because," Quinn said slowly. "Because me and Puck together is like the icing on the cake of how much I hurt Finn. And I can't do that to him."

"What?" The disbelief was evident in Rachel's voice. Quinn smiled a little sadly, looking up finally to meet her eyes. "Quinn, that's ridiculous."

"No, it isn't," she said softly. Her eyes drifted down to where Rachel still gripped her hand.

"You don't have to keep punishing yourself," Rachel said exasperatedly. "It's pointless and unnecessary."

"I can't be with Puck without feeling guilty because it'll hurt Finn," Quinn said. "Every time I look at Puck, I think about how we got into this mess in the first place, and I think about how I was okay with doing things with him that I never did with Finn, and I feel like the worst person in the world. Because Finn's a good guy, and we hurt him, and I can't keep hurting him."

Rachel's hand finally slipped from Quinn's, and she pushed her dark hair back absently, staring at Quinn curiously. "You have to stop punishing yourself," she said again. "No one deserves this much punishment."

"You don't have to understand it," Quinn whispered. "I don't know how to explain it any better. But just… please, Rachel. I have to do it this way."

"You have to break your heart and his?" Rachel said, disbelief ringing in Quinn's ears. "Why does Finn get to move on and neither you nor Puck are allowed to? Why don't you get to be happy?"

"I don't know how to explain it," Quinn repeated. Her head ached, and she wished desperately to be able to lie down and sleep. "It's like… I cheated on Finn. I lied to Finn. I hurt Finn. It all started with me sleeping with Puck and then lying to Finn about it. Me being with Puck is like saying that everything I did was okay. And it's not."

Rachel stared at her. Her eyes were wide, her mouth opening and closing a few times as she seemed to search desperately for words. "I don't get it," she said finally, her voice soft. "You're right. I guess I don't have to. It's your decision. But I think that if you want to be with Puck, you shouldn't let Finn stand in the way. You hurt him, yes, but he also hurt you, and while neither cancels out the other, you both can and should move on." She moved to stand square in front of Quinn, holding her eyes steadfastly. "You're a good person, you know. You deserve happiness as much as he does."

Quinn remained silent, pulling her eyes away from Rachel's intense stare and locking her gaze one the ground. Her hands were shaking again, tears still sliding down her cheeks; her face hurt from the cold wind. She didn't protest when Rachel eased the keys out of her hands and instructed her to get in the passenger seat. The whole drive back to the Berry's house, she continued to cry silently as she stared at her knees. She didn't notice the looks Rachel sent her way, frustration and sympathy and longing and concern all wrapped together and undisguised in her brown eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

By the time March had come around, neither Quinn nor Rachel had once brought up their conversation about Puck and Finn in the parking lot. Finn no longer glared at Quinn, but he still spoke to her only when he had no other option. Puck stayed in the periphery, managing his frustration and anger by slumping silently in chairs and only speaking when spoken to; he skipped more classes than ever and spent most of his time working odd jobs around town or in the football team's weight room. Rachel and Quinn returned to their previously comfortable routine, spending time with Brittany and Santana and the rest of glee at school, and studying together comfortably at home.

It was a Thursday when it happened. The day before, Rachel had gone with Quinn to an appointment with her obstetrician; at almost thirty weeks, he informed her that all was well. Quinn had spent the evening mulling over whether or not she was going to keep the baby, leaving her room only when Rachel dragged her out to watch the last half of _Casablanca_ with her. She had let herself be settled on the couch with unbuttered popcorn and Rachel prodding the knots out of her shoulders until she fell asleep, dreaming about a girl with blonde curls and Puck's eyes playing on a jungle gym. When she woke at the end of the movie, she almost announced to Rachel that she wanted to keep the baby, but instead decided that it was probably not in her best interest to make such a decision based on a dream.

They were walking to glee practice after school, talking with Brittany and Santana about upcoming Regionals, when Dave Karofsky and appeared at the top of the stairs they were climbing. Four grape slushies flew into their faces, catching all of them off-guard. Quinn felt the ice slam into her face, soaking her hair and shirt and chilling her skin; she heard the angry outburst from Santana and confusion from Brittany and frustrated sigh from Rachel, the laughter from Karofsky and his friends; she felt the waver in her normally-pristine balance as water and ice dripped down onto the floor under her shoes.

And then, all she could comprehend was that she was slipping, her hands reaching for the railing and catching only empty air as her shoes skidded out from under her and she toppled backwards down the stairs. She slammed into the floor on the landing, her head cracking painfully on the linoleum and her wrist twisting as her hand caught a too-late grip on a bottom rung of the railing, but all she noticed was the explosion of pain in her stomach and back, forcing a strangled cry past her lips. Her vision blurred from her head impacting on the floor, the ceiling tiles melting together into a mass of off-white dotted with black.

Rachel appeared at her side, Brittany on the other, shock and concern etched across their faces and tainted with grape slushie remnants. Both of them were talking, Rachel's hand hovering over her stomach, but Quinn couldn't tell what they were saying. In the background, she saw Santana—never one to panic—whipping out her cell phone; even in her calm, she was staring at Quinn worriedly, alternating concern with fury and she glared up at the top of the stairs where Karofsky and his friends had run away.

Rachel's voice cut through the pain, and Quinn struggled to focus on it. She was gripping Quinn's hand tightly in her own, brown eyes wide as she talked on constantly, telling her that an ambulance was on the way, she was going to be fine, there was nothing to worry about. Quinn bit down on her lip, clenching her eyes shut, and told herself repeatedly that the damp feeling in her jeans had to be grape slushie and was absolutely not blood.

The paramedics got there quickly, and the sound of the sirens brought the rest of glee out into the hallway. Quinn's head reeled as she was loaded onto a stretcher, another strangled cry escaping her as a fresh wave of pain blossomed in her stomach. She forced her eyes open and saw Rachel staring at her anxiously, Puck behind her looking terrified, his eyes bright with what may actually be tears. Mr. Scheu had a hand on Puck's shoulder and was talking to him softly, and Quinn locked eyes with Puck momentarily before another wave of pain forced them shut again.

The paramedics strapped her in, talking all the while, and then started out to the ambulance. The entirety of glee club followed them out. Quinn gritted her teeth, determined to keep from crying out even when she could do nothing to restrain the tears rolling steadily out of her eyes. As she was loaded into the ambulance, the paramedics had to stop Rachel, Puck, Mr. Scheu, Brittany, and Santana from all cramming into the back with her. Yet another fresh stab of pain left Quinn breathless, her eyes clenched shut and her head reeling dizzily even at a stand-still. When she opened her eyes, the ambulance doors where shut and Puck was at her side, gripping her hand gently and staring at her silently with wide eyes full of fear and unshed tears.

At the hospital, she was wheeled into the emergency room, Puck trailing after the doctors and asking constantly if she would be okay, if the baby was okay. Quinn felt the prick of a needle in her arm and a light was shone into her eyes; she blinked tiredly and looked away. Questions were thrown at her, her name floating into her ears on unfamiliar voices, but even the pain felt distant as her eyes started to droop. Just before she drifted off into blissful unconsciousness, she saw Rachel burst into the trauma room, Finn and Brittany and Santana in tow; Puck was trembling visibly and Rachel stared at her, eyes wide and hands covering her mouth. An unfamiliar voice shouted something, and then Quinn finally passed out.


	11. Chapter 11

Quinn woke to an unpleasantly fuzzy feeling in her mouth. Her eyes felt gummy and swollen, as if she had slept with her contacts in. Slowly, a rhythmic beep appeared in her ears, sounding as if it was coming from down a long tunnel. She forced her eyes open, blinking repeatedly in an attempt to clear her vision; bright white above her shone down and she wondered for a moment if she was dead.

As she stared at the bright white above her, a dark form suddenly appeared in her vision; she blinked twice more, and the figure solidified into the head and shoulders of a man in green surgical scrubs. A light was shone into her eyes; she blinked yet again, squinting.

"Quinn," he said. His voice sounded almost as distant as the beeping had at first, but was becoming clearer. "Quinn, can you hear me?"

"Yeah," she tried to say. Her voice came out a barely-audible croak; she licked her lips and tasted dried blood.

"Good," he said warmly. "I'm Dr. Michaels. You're at the hospital."

"Why?" she managed to force out.

His smile slipped slightly. "You fell down some stairs. You cracked your head pretty good on the floor, so you have a concussion, which is why you probably don't remember much."

Slowly, Quinn closed her eyes, trying to put together the small flashes of memory she could hold onto. She took a deep breath, and cried out softly at the pain the permeated her torso when she did. Her eyes flew open.

"The baby," she whispered. "Is she okay?"

Dr. Michaels looked down at his clipboard, clearing his throat. "When you fell," he said slowly. "The placenta pulled away from the uterus. It's called placental abruption. In some cases it's mild, but the trauma was severe in your case."

"No," Quinn said, shaking her head. She ignored the stab of pain in the base of her skull. "No."

"I'm very sorry," he said. "We had to induce labor to save both of you, we did everything we could, but the fetus… the fetus was stillborn."

"She wasn't a fetus," Quinn said. "She was a baby." She latched onto the terminology, focusing on her anger instead of the reality of the situation.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "We tried to save her."

Quinn shook her head again and again. "No," she repeated. "No, no, no."

Dr. Michaels watched her with a pained expression on his face. After a few long moments, during which Quinn fell silent and stared at the wall as far away from him as possible, he cleared his throat and placed her clipboard on the footboard of her bed. "If there's anything we can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask. There's a nurses' station just outside your room."

With another apology, he left the room quietly. Quinn continued to stare bleakly at the wall, eyes wide and unblinking. She was aware of the sting of an IV in one arm, that there was pain in her head and neck, that her wrist hurt and was encased in a splint, but all she could focus on was the dull ache in her abdomen, the words _the fetus was stillborn_ echoing in her head like a jackhammer. The beeping of the heart monitor faded from her perception, the wall in front of her blurring; all she could see was a little girl with blonde curls and Puck's eyes, and all she could feel was pain in her stomach, and all she could hear was the word _stillborn_. Tears dripped down onto her pillow and quiet sobs wracked her body, intensifying the pain in her abdomen, and eventually she cried herself back into unconsciousness.

When she woke up again, it was dark outside. An arrangement of flowers stood on the table in the corner of the room. Rachel was curled up in one of the chairs, her small frame resembling a ball of argyle and dark hair. A massive letter jacket was spread over her, but she was the only other person in the room.

Quinn looked away from Rachel's sleeping form, a strangely numb feeling wrapped around her. She spotted a pitcher of water and some Styrofoam cups on the table beside her bed. Moving slowly, she pushed herself into a sitting position; pain ripped through her body and she couldn't swallow the gasp it pushed past her lips. Rachel's eyes flew open.

"Quinn," she said softly, her voice raspy with sleep. "Are you—" She cut herself off, teeth clacking together audibly as she shut her mouth. Quinn remained silent, not meeting her eyes, and reached with her uninjured hand for the pitcher.

"Here," Rachel said. She bolted from her chair, the jacket falling to the floor. "I've got it." She poured a cup of water out, handing it to Quinn carefully. Quinn took a shallow sip, wincing as she swallowed; her throat felt like sandpaper. Slowly, she finished off the cup, handing it back to Rachel without a word.

"Can I get you anything?" Rachel asked. She fidgeted with the cuffs of her sweater, trying desperately to catch Quinn's eye.

Quinn said nothing, her eyes traveling around the room. She paused as she took in the flower arrangement, then the jacket.

"The flowers are from the Cheerios," Rachel said wryly. She opened her mouth to say something else, but then thought better of it and simply shook her head. "The jacket is Noah's."

Quinn raised an eyebrow dispassionately. A part of her wanted _Puck_ in the room, not his jacket; she wanted the boy with the sad eyes who told her she was beautiful to be there with her when she felt like someone had cut her open and shoveled out every single bit of what made her _Quinn _and left her body a shell housing nothing but pain and death. A louder part of her—the one that had made her push him away that day in the hallway after glee practice a month ago, the one that had been convinced that she needed more punishment than she had reaped for his mistakes—said nastily that this was that punishment she thought she needed and curling up in Puck's arms was far more than she deserved.

"After you went into surgery, he was in a panic. When the doctor came out and told us that—" She paused again, wringing her hands together; the cuffs of her sweater looked stretched beyond repair. She took a deep breath and forged on. "He shut down for hours. Not even his mom or sister could get him to talk. Then he just snapped out of it. He made Brittany tell him what happened, and—and he came in here, and I was half-asleep, and he just looked at you for the longest time. Then he looked at me and said that it was cold in here and gave me his jacket and walked out." She bit her lip. "I think he went to murder Karofsky."

"Good," Quinn said softly. "I hope he does."

"Quinn, you don't—"

"I do," she interrupted. She continued to stare blankly at the flower arrangement. "I really do."

Rachel sighed. "I kind of do, too," she said. She returned to her chair, folding Puck's jacket and setting it over the footboard of Quinn's bed. "I can't believe him."

Quinn redirected her gaze to her hands, resting limply in her lap. Her right wrist was covered in a bulky Ace bandage, wrapped around a splint. She traced her fingers from her left hand along the line of the splint, prodding lightly until a finger hit a swollen spot at the base of her hand.

Silence hung heavy in the room as Quinn continued to stare at her injured wrist and Rachel stared openly at Quinn. Outside, the sound of nurses striding up and down the hall, papers shuffling, doors opening and closing, drifted through the walls. Quinn could hear people in the hallway chatting and laughing, the sounds muffled by the door but made distant by the hollow feeling in her chest.

"Quinn," Rachel said finally. "Please, say something. Tell me what you want me to do." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at Quinn as the blonde stayed silent. "Quinn, come on, please," she said. "I know that I can't imagine what you're feeling right now, but please, tell me what you want me to do to help."

"I was going to keep her," Quinn said quietly. She looked up slowly from her wrist. "I decided when we were watching _Casablanca_ the other day. I was going to keep her. I was going to name her Sarah, after my grandmother, and her middle name was going to be Noelle for Puck. I was going to keep her, and I was going to be a better mother to her than my parents were for me, and I was going to let Puck be as much of a father to her as he always wanted to be, and we were going to be a family because we both wanted it and I was so tired of punishing myself and I just wanted to be happy."

"Quinn," Rachel whispered, her voice wavering. "Oh, God. I am so—"

"Don't say it," Quinn snapped. Her voice was stronger than it had been since she'd woken up. "Don't you dare say it."

"Okay," Rachel said. "Okay. I won't. I… is there anything I can do?"

"Go," Quinn said. Her chin drooped to her chest, her eyes locking back on her wrist.

"What?"

"Go," Quinn said again. "I want to be alone."

Rachel didn't move for the longest time. When she did, she stood slowly. Moving towards the door, she paused and turned back. She pulled Quinn's cell phone out of her purse and set it on the bed next to Quinn's leg.

"I'll be in the waiting area with everyone else," she said gently. "Call if you want anything." She reached out, her hand hovering over Quinn's shoulder; she let it hang there for a long second before pulling it back to her side. "I get that you want to be alone. But you aren't alone. You've got all of us here to help you; we're all just down the hall. And if Noah hasn't been arrested for killing Karofsky, he'll be back down there soon."

Quietly, Rachel made her way out of the room and shut the door. Quinn slowly lay back down and curled into a ball, welcoming the pain in her stomach at her movements as a way to focus on something besides the terrifyingly hollow feeling in her chest. She stared at the window, eyes following the edges of headlights of passing cars until she drifted off once more.

When Quinn woke again, pale sunlight was leaking in through the windows, patterned across the wall opposite her bed. Puck was slumped in an uncomfortable-looking position in one of the chairs, Rachel once again curled up in the other one. Quinn numbly took in the dried blood spots on his shirt, the shadow of a bruise over one of his eyes and that both his hands were bandaged, his wrists splinted like hers. A brief moment passed in which an actual emotion nosed through her numbness, as she felt a minute concern for him and hoped that he hadn't _actually_ killed Karofsky and set himself up to get arrested.

Silently, Quinn stared at the two of them and thought of Sarah Noelle Fabray. As stoic as she tried to force herself to be—because stoicism was all she could see getting her through this disaster—she could do little to avoid the barrage of images flurrying through her mind. Sarah Noelle Fabray, with blonde curls and Puck's eyes, watching wide-eyed as Puck taught her how to throw a football, listening earnestly as Rachel prattled on about the wonderful nature of Broadway, tumbling in the grass as Quinn and Brittany and Santana taught her how to execute a perfect round-off. Sarah Noelle Fabray, who would have had the voice of an angel and Quinn's wit and Puck's obstinacy, who would have picked up Rachel's determination and Brittany's love for the world and Santana's ability to stare at and scare the pants off of anyone who tried to threaten her. Sarah Noelle Fabray, who may have had a dysfunctional family and parents who could swing between adoration and hate and back again in six seconds but would have been loved by all the people Quinn loved, because she would have been Quinn and she would have been Puck, only so much better and so much _more_.

Puck woke first, eyes fluttering open almost girlishly; he grunted as he stretched, not aware that Quinn was awake where she sat, propped up by pillows. He started minutely when he noticed that her eyes were open. A painful silence stretched between them, and Quinn could find the energy neither to speak nor to look away.

"Hey," he said eventually, his voice a low rumble. Quinn couldn't tell if he was speaking quietly in an attempt not to wake Rachel, or if he was afraid that she might shatter if he spoke too loudly.

"Hi," she whispered in response, after a long hesitation. Her throat ached, parched from sleep and crying. Her gaze drifted down to where his bandaged hands lay awkwardly in his lap; unwillingly, one of her eyebrows rose and she looked up at him questioningly.

"He's not dead," Puck said dully. "Cops got there before that. I think Mr. S called. He kept them from arresting me, too."

"They arrested him?" In her emotionless fantasies of Karofsky being executed, being tarred and feathered, drawn and quartered, stoned to death, she had not once considered what might actually happen to him. Unsurprisingly, his being arrested felt simultaneously more solid and more appropriate.

"Yeah," Puck said. "For assault. All four of them, actually."

Quinn nodded absently. Her eyes slid back down to his hands. "Tell me you at least beat the shit out of him."

"Yeah," he said with a half-hearted snort. "Guy's a pansy anyways. It wasn't even a challenge. Little bastard won't be eating solid food for six months. Or be able to hold a fork. Or even breathe very easily."

"Good," Quinn said softly.

Puck nodded. He rested his elbows on his knees, staring at his injured hands with an almost thoughtful look on his face. Quinn stared at her own wrist, fingers once more tracing along the splint.

"Rachel said you didn't want her to say sorry," he said, not looking up from his hands. "Which I get. I don't want anyone to try to apologize to me about it, either." He took a deep breath. "We're in the same boat here, Quinn. I never got to see a sonogram or anything, but that baby was as much as part of me as you, and I'm just as broken as you are. I know you weren't going to keep her and I get that, too, now, I think, but—"

"I wanted to," Quinn whispered. She looked back up at him, tears heavy in her eyes. "I decided after the last sonogram. I just hadn't told anyone yet… I was going to tell you first, I just wanted to figure out what I was going to say and how I was going to manage it all and—"

"You…" he croaked out. "You were going to keep her?"

"Yeah." Quinn dropped her eyes back down to her wrist. "Sarah Noelle Fabray. Or Puckerman," she added softly, looking up at Puck almost shyly. "If you still wanted to be a part of her life."

"If I…" he breathed out. Tears shone in his eyes, and the sight of them made Quinn's start to fall, dripping down her cheeks and falling onto the blanket covering her. "Of course I did."

He finally stood from the chair, moving to sit beside her on the bed. Hesitantly, he took her uninjured hand, cradling it between his own; Quinn collapsed against him, tears spilling from her eyes as she sobbed into his shoulder. The body-wracking sobs reawakened both the pain in her abdomen and Rachel, who uncurled from her position in the chair swiftly and made her way to Quinn's other side. Quinn continued to sob against Puck's shoulder, her tears soaking his t-shirt; he held her impossibly gently, his chin resting on her hair. She felt Rachel perch on the bed as well, a hand tracing soothingly up and down her back; she reached blindly with one hand and her sobs slowed minutely when Rachel's fingers slid through her own, letting Quinn grasp her hand as tightly as she could while she cried.

By the time Quinn had cried out all of her tears, the three of them were mashed together in a tangle of arms, Rachel and Puck both wrapped carefully around Quinn. Quinn still gripped Rachel's hand tightly, her head resting exhaustedly against Puck's shoulder; she could feel him trembling slightly still. Rachel was warm and solid on her other side, her free hand running through Quinn's hair. At one point in time, a nurse had come in to check on Quinn; she had taken one look at them, all three crying, and left the room silently.

Quinn was the first to break the silence. "Have my parents come by?"

Rachel's hand stilled, and Puck stiffened. "I don't know," Puck said, his voice a low rumble.

"I know Santana called them," Rachel said softly. "She and Brittany were the only ones who had talked to them before, so she volunteered." She paused, then added wryly, "Actually, Brittany volunteered, and Santana kindly suggested that perhaps she should do it instead."

Quinn nodded absently. Santana always had been overly protective of her friends, and Brittany especially; it was no surprise that she would jump at keeping Brittany from getting lost in the melodrama that would be caused in explaining this to Quinn's parents. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised," she said, her voice soft and bitter.

"They might have come by since we got in here, though," Rachel said hurriedly. "You're only allowed two visitors at a time, and we've been in here since around midnight, so they might be out in the waiting room with the others." Over Quinn's head, Rachel shot Puck a significant glance; he blinked twice before nodded.

"I can go check, if you want," he said. Quinn nodded silently, raising her eyes momentarily to meet his. The moment she did, she fell back into her thoughts of their daughter with his eyes, and she dropped her gaze quickly, not wanting him to see her crying again. He carefully untangled himself, pausing to press a painfully gentle kiss to the top of her head before exiting the room.

Silence stretched throughout the room again. Quinn shifted, turning so she was now curled up against Rachel, who remained quiet as she let Quinn find a comfortable position. Once she had, Rachel's hand returned to her hair, fingers sliding through it slowly. The minute tremors that had yet to leave her body slowed slightly as Rachel pulled a blanket higher over Quinn's shoulders.

"I can't be with him now," Quinn whispered, her breath ghosting across the wrinkles in Rachel's sweater. She was grateful that Rachel remained quiet, the only notice that she had heard a hesitation in the movements of her hand, brief but noticeable. "I look in his eyes and I see her. I can't."

"Maybe not now," Rachel said gently. "No one will expect anything from you yet. We'll all be here to help you, but you set your own pace."

"It's not fair," Quinn said. "I know I made all kinds of mistakes, but she didn't deserve to be punished for it. She didn't do anything wrong."

"Quinn, this isn't a punishment," Rachel said. Her voice was quiet but sharp, and her hand stilled once more. "This has nothing to do with _anything_ you did."

"It's penance," Quinn said. She stared blankly out ahead. "It has to be. I lied, I sinned, I broke the rules and tried to cover it up, and this is what happens."

"No," came a voice from the door, wavering but strong. Quinn's breath caught in her throat at the familiar tones of her mother's voice; she slowly looked over her shoulder, as if moving too quickly would cause an apparition of her mother to vanish.

Instead, her mother still stood in the doorway, clutching at her purse with nervous hands, her eyes rimmed in red. Puck stood behind her, watching Quinn with tense shoulders, as if prepared to bodily drag Mrs. Fabray out if she upset Quinn.

"This isn't penance," Mrs. Fabray said. She stepped into the room, setting her purse on one of the chairs. "This isn't God at all. This is just misfortune. You did nothing to deserve this."

"That's not what Daddy would say," Quinn said, unable to stop herself.

"Your father is very set in his ways," Mrs. Fabray said carefully. "He has his idea of how the world should be, and he stands by those beliefs regardless of everything. But not even he would say that you deserved this, sweetie. No one would and no one is."

Tears welled in Quinn's eyes once more; she thought she had none left, but apparently she was wrong. "Mom," she choked out. Her mother was at her side in an instant, hugging her tightly and kissing her forehead; both of them trembled and cried together as Quinn let herself sink into the comfort of her mother's arms that she had wished for so desperately the last time they spoke.

All the while, Puck stood in the doorway, arms hanging limply at his side and his own tears spilling over once more, and Quinn never let go of Rachel's hand, refusing to let her move away from the bed.


	12. Chapter 12

Quinn was released from the hospital the next Monday, at the beginning of spring break. She was startled to see all of glee waiting for her to be wheeled out by Puck and Rachel and her mother, all holding flowers and balloons and smiling as much as they dared— even Finn was there, standing awkwardly beside Mr. Scheu with a bouquet of hydrangeas and slumped shoulders. Quinn knew that both Brittany and Santana at least had spring break plans—they'd bounded into glee cheerfully one afternoon in Thursday, announcing that they had just bought plane tickets to Los Angeles for the break—and hadn't dared consider that anyone might change their plans for her.

"Hey, Quinn," Artie said shyly, wheeling himself forward. A shoebox rested on his legs. "We wanted you to know that if you need anything, we're all here for you. Anything at all."

"Thank you," Quinn whispered. Yet again, tears stung her eyes as she took in the sight of her teammates, all foregoing their spring break—and one of the first glorious days of spring they had had—to be there for her release.

Artie ducked his head, flushing slightly, as he so often did. He picked up the shoebox and held it out to her. "A care package," he said by way of explanation. "We put it together as a group. We hope that it might help you feel a little better."

Quinn pulled the lid off the shoebox. Inside sat a stack of DVDs—all comedies—and two books—the two sequels to _Wicked_—and a handheld Nintendo with a dozen games, a bottle of what looked like very expensive body wash, what looked suspiciously like Santana's lucky hair scrunchie and Brittany's favorite Beanie Baby—a skunk that she had taken pity on at age six because none of the other children wanted a Beanie Baby that looked like roadkill—and a simple card. Picking up the card, she silently read the inscription written in Santana's familiar hand.

_We've got your back, Q. Just call._

Scattered around the card were signatures, Rachel's gold star shining brightly in the sunlight. Quinn blinked, looking up at all of them.

"Thank you," she whispered again. "Thank you all so much." She felt her mother's hand resting on her shoulder, squeezing gently. This was the first time her mother had been exposed to the other members of glee, and Quinn suddenly felt extremely concerned that she approve.

In Quinn's mother's car, Quinn looked over at her mother uncertainly, hands folded in her lap. "Mom," she said after a long hesitation.

"It'll be good having you home, sweetie," Mrs. Fabray said. She fiddled with the radio. "I told your father that he could either come to terms with the fact that he never should have kicked you out, or he can sleep in the garage."

"Mom," Quinn said again. "I… I've been staying with the Berrys."

"But you can come home now," Mrs. Fabray said, a soft smile on her lips.

"Could you…" Quinn paused, gathering her courage. "Mom, their house has been home to me for months. My things are there. Could you please… can I go back there?"

Mrs. Fabray looked over at her, a wounded look in her eyes. Quinn looked away, focusing her gaze on her lap once more, staring at the stark contrast of the white bandages around her splint and the black material of her sweatpants.

"Please," Quinn whispered. "I'm sorry, but they gave me a home when I didn't have one. I'll be more comfortable there."

After a painfully long silence, her mother sighed. "You're right, I guess," she said dejectedly. "I guess we don't really get to just grab you back up." She reached over and clasped Quinn's hand gently. "I'm glad you found a home there."

"Me too," Quinn said, squeezing her mother's hand.

Silently, Mrs. Fabray drove Quinn to the Berry's house. Rachel bounded out the front door the moment they pulled into the driveway, as if she had been waiting at the window for them to show up, even though there had been no talk of it happening. She made it to Quinn's door before Quinn could even unbuckle her seatbelt, bouncing on the balls of her feet and carefully helping her out of the car.

"Hey," she said quietly, a smile gracing her lips as she wrapped a gentle arm around Quinn's waist.

"Hey," Quinn said, just as quietly. She leaned against Rachel, letting the shorter girl support her weight as they walked slowly up the sidewalk. Rachel's parents stood by the front door, welcoming her back with sad smiles and gentle hugs. Her own mother followed hesitantly, introducing herself to the Berrys as Rachel helped Quinn up the stairs to her room.

"I didn't think you would come back," Rachel admitted as she settled Quinn onto the bed, moving to take off the blonde's shoes.

"My mom was going to take me home," Quinn said. Her eyes drifted up to the familiar ceiling, her head tipped back. "I asked if I could come here." She brought her eyes back down, a moment of uncertainty flashing before her. "It's okay with your dads that I came back, right?"

"Of course!" Rachel said. "They kind of love you. You're apparently far easier to handle than I am. And you do the laundry, so Daddy doesn't have to." She eased a blanket up over Quinn, who forced a smile; the comfort she had felt from the glee club's support and her mother's understanding was fading, pushed back by the nagging pain in her chest, the ache in her stomach where Sarah Noelle Puckerman had once been.

Quinn had a steady stream of visitors over the afternoon. Her mother came and wished her goodbye, kissing her forehead and saying she'd be back the next day, perhaps with her father, and that her sister was flying in from New Mexico as soon as she could. Puck stopped by, his eyes still bloodshot and shoulders slumped; they sat in silence until his mother called and asked him if he could pick up his sister. He, too, kissed her forehead before leaving. Brittany and Santana and Rachel sat with her most of the afternoon, the three of them doing whatever they could to keep Quinn's mind off of the miscarriage; they planned a day-long movie marathon for later in the week, inviting all of glee and conspiring on how to whip the boys in a girls-versus-guys Rock Band challenge. One of Rachel's dads checked on her every half hour or so.

Quinn was drifting off to sleep shortly after dark, George Winston's familiar piano chords echoing around the room, when Rachel poked her head in to check on her. "Sorry," Rachel whispered. "Didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't," Quinn said. She turned her head to face Rachel. "Do you think… could you maybe…" Her voice trailed off and she bit her lip. "Can you stay here tonight?" Every time she was alone, her thoughts returned to the child she'd never get to meet and her chest pinched almost more uncomfortably then her abdomen; her throat would close up and air would refuse to inflate her lungs, mental and physical pain creeping into every inch of her body. It was only when she was in the presence of others, with the distraction of conversation or companionship or—even better—contact, the kind she would never be able to have with her daughter, that she could find a way to redirect her thoughts. Her mother had stayed with her every night at the hospital since she woke up, sleeping in a chair next to her bed and gripping Quinn's hand or stroking her hair until she cried herself to sleep.

"Of course," Rachel said softly. "Let me go change and I'll be right back."

"Thank you," Quinn whispered.

A minute later, Rachel returned in sweatpants and a t-shirt and slid into the bed next to the blonde. Quinn curled up at Rachel's side, fingers clenching tightly to the material of her t-shirt, and let herself be lulled into sleep by the feeling of Rachel's hand rubbing gently up and down her back. For the first time since the previous Thursday, she didn't cry herself to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Wednesday morning, Quinn slept late. She had woken up more times than she could count throughout the night with a hammering pain in her chest and the feel that her stomach was far too big, an echoing concavity left in the absence of Sarah Noelle Puckerman's growing body; that Quinn had been able to fall asleep without crying for the past two nights did nothing to belie the nightmares that had haunted her every night in the hospital. Rachel had, every time, been awake within seconds every time, sitting up and holding Quinn's trembling form and wiping away her tears until the blonde fell back to sleep.

When she finally woke in the morning (not, she noted dispassionately, from a nightmare, but simply because the room was flooded with late morning sunlight), though, Rachel was nowhere to be seen. Instead, her mother and sister both sat in the room, matching blonde heads and heartbroken eyes and radiating guilt.

Conversation was awkward between the three of them, her mother still seemingly terrified of losing her youngest daughter again and her sister in complete shock—Devon, as Quinn found out, had been kept in the dark by their parents about kicking Quinn out, and was as furious at Quinn for not coming to her for help as she was at their parents. There were uncomfortable but heartfelt apologies, explanations and descriptions and lamentations and countless tears; by the time Rachel knocked cautiously on the door and stepped halfway into the room to ask if any of them wanted some lunch, some semblance of family had returned between the three of them.

"Food would be great," Devon said. She lifted to her feet from where she was sitting on the bed next to Quinn, reaching out to squeeze Quinn's shoulder gently before she walked across the room. "And I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Devon."

"Rachel Berry," Rachel said brightly, flashing her classic winning smile and shaking Devon's hand.

"Rachel _Berry_," Devon murmured. She shot a look over her shoulder at Quinn, one eyebrow quirked minutely, and Quinn flashed back suddenly to a long-winded rant she had bestowed upon her sister over a long-distance phone call about that horrendous _Rachel Berry_ and the disgusting glee club dance routine for "Push It" she had roped sweet stupid Finn into; she flushed darkly and her gaze shot down towards her lap.

Their lunch of turkey sandwiches and pasta salad was taken in Quinn's room, and Quinn let Rachel and Devon dominate the conversation, listening halfway as Devon quizzed Rachel about glee and singing and Broadway. She picked at the edges of her sandwich and dismantled the pile of pasta salad on her plate and when the three of them turned to her with concerned looks and fell silent as each one hoped one of the others would be the first to bring up the fact that she wasn't eating, Quinn yawned and said that she was exhausted and still in some pain and could really use a nap.

Within five minutes, her mother and Devon had made their way out of the house and Quinn sat on the edge of her bed, staring absently at the window. Rachel reappeared in the room, fussing with the pillows and the blinds. "Rachel," Quinn said quietly.

"Your sister is nice," Rachel said distractedly. Her attention was focused on the window, the blinds refusing to lower evenly. "I hate these things. I told Daddy that Venetian blinds are stupid, but does he listen to me? No, of course not."

"Rachel, leave them," Quinn said, laughing quietly. "I'm not really tired. I just…needed a break, you know?"

"Oh," Rachel said. She let go of the blinds, and they both winced when the string snapped up and the blinds fell down to hit the windowsill. "That makes sense." She sat down on the edge of the desk chair, smoothing her hands over her skirt, and then hopped back up. "Do you want me to go? I completely understand if you want some time alone."

"No, it's fine," Quinn said hurriedly. "Don't go."

Rachel stared at her curiously for a long second, before smiling cautiously and returning to her seat. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm okay," Quinn said, a small smile gracing her lips before fading quickly. Her words echoed in her head painfully, and her shoulder slumped.

"It's okay if you're not, you know," Rachel said. Her voice was soft, so quiet that Quinn barely heard it. "No one expects anything of you."

"Sure they do," Quinn said, quiet and sardonic. "That's just what people do. They think they know someone, and they think they know how that person will react to things, and then when things go differently it throws them for a loop."

"Maybe so," Rachel reasoned. "But no one expects you to be okay, Quinn. None of us know what you're going through, except maybe Noah, at little bit. But we don't expect you to always put on a brave front and smile for our sake." She paused, fingers twisting in her lap. "You can't be all smiles and bravery all the time, you know."

"Why not?" Quinn whispered. "You are."

"I…what?" The surprise was evident in Rachel's voice; for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she spoke in normal tones. No one had spoke to Quinn much above a whisper since she woke up in the hospital, as if worried that too many decibels would cause her to physically shatter from her fragile state.

Quinn shrugged absently. "You always smile and act brave and untouchable, even when people are horrible to you. People throw slushies at me or Finn or Puck and we freak out. You just… carry an extra outfit and make-up and change and go back to your day. People say mean things to you, and you don't flip out or break down. You still put a gold star next to your name and ramble on about Broadway.

"If you can do that, if you do that," she went on. "Why can't I? Why shouldn't I?"

Rachel sighed. "People being jerks is nothing new," she said simply. "When you grow up the only child of a gay couple in Ohio, you get used to the rudimentary insults and cruel actions of the narrow-minded unenlightened masses. But," she added sharply. "People teasing me is _nothing_ compared to this."

She paused, long enough that Quinn finally pulled her eyes away from her lap and looked up at Rachel through her eyelashes, and took a deep breath. "Quinn, you lost a child," she said, her voice impossibly gentle. "No one expects you to come back to school after break and just be _okay_."

At the word _child_, Quinn felt the sledgehammer pounding in her chest return and inhaled sharply and painfully, her lungs feeling like that couldn't inflate. Her hand shook, her fingers and toes feeling cold, and she felt like there was a hole the size of seven pound and four ounces of brown-eyed blonde infant left gaping in her stomach. She struggled for breath, her focus narrowing on the pressure in her chest and the hollow in her stomach and every daydream she had ever had about Sarah Noelle Puckerman bombarded her every sense until she was wholly overwhelmed and sinking undeniably into a panic attack.

Just as she thought that she was going to pass out, the lack of oxygen from her closed-up throat and pain in her stomach and tears in her eyes bordering on overwhelming, she felt hands on her shoulders and heard an urgent voice intoning words she couldn't understand. She focused on the sound of Rachel's insistent voice, on every point of contact as Rachel's hands slid from her shoulders to rub comfortingly up and down her arms, then up to push blonde hair from her face and wipe away her tears, then wrapping around her back and pulling her into an embrace painfully similar to the one she had collapsed into with Puck the first day at the hospital. Her throat opened up just enough for her to breathe but her tears redoubled, and she clung to Rachel as tightly as she could and sobbed into her shirt.

Minutes slid by as Quinn sank into every bit of pain and anger and guilt she had tried so valiantly to hold at bay, and Rachel continued to stand by the bed, arms wrapped tightly around Quinn's shoulders as Quinn cried herself half to sleep, hands clenching and releasing reflexively and sporadically at the material of Rachel's sweatshirt. A few tears of her own slipped loose, sliding off her chin to land atop Quinn's hair.

In a lull in her tears, sometime after she'd started her fourth effort to calm down and before she was struck with the invasion of a memory of the first time the baby kicked in her stomach and launched her into a fresh wave of crying, Quinn pulled back the slightest bit and turned her reddened eyes up to Rachel's face. The brunette looked calmly back down at her, one arm moving from Quinn's waist to reach up and brush away a few lingering tears on her cheeks, her face a mask of sympathy and her eyes brimming with something that Quinn could not recognize and was unable to understand, something that Quinn unconsciously filed away to consider at another time.

Rachel lowered her head and pressed a heartbreakingly gentle kiss against Quinn's forehead, just below her hair, and then Quinn remembered suddenly how it had felt the first time Sarah Noelle Puckerman kicked in her stomach, and all thoughts of undecipherable emotions in the eyes of petite brunettes vanished from Quinn's mind; her tears returned full-force and she buried her head against Rachel's stomach once more.

Quinn realized, when she woke up three hours later with a blanket tucked around her and Rachel asleep at Quinn's desk, pillowed on her pre-cal book, that Rachel must have once again held her until she cried herself to sleep. A tiny smile played across her lips as she silently sank into the comfort of knowing that someone was there to watch out for her, Quinn pulled the blanket a little tighter around herself and turned on her side, resting her head on one of her arms and watching Rachel's sleeping form until she drifted off to sleep once more.


	14. Chapter 14

The rest of the week passed quietly for Quinn. She left the house only for follow-up visits with the doctors—who declared that she was "healing beautifully", to which Quinn snarled a threat in response and was halfway off the examination table to hit him before Rachel and one of her fathers could hold the blonde back—and spent the vast majority of her time either curled up on the couch watching movies with Rachel or alone in her room, reading book after book in an effort to occupy her mind and avoid sleep.

Whenever she did fall asleep alone, it took tears that soaked her pillow and her hair and the edges of the blanket for her to succumb to unconsciousness; she could only fall asleep with dry eyes if someone stayed with her. Most often, it was Rachel's familiar shoulder she nestled into, the lingering smell of cinnamon and jasmine and vanilla from her perfume that Quinn grew accustomed to breathing in as she fell asleep, the soft sound of Rachel's voice murmuring unintelligible words of comfort that calmed Quinn down the fastest every time she woke up from a nightmare of a small house with a garden and a dog and Puck and their daughter living happily ever after. Her sister had stayed with her a few nights, but it was Rachel that was always miraculously there within minutes of Quinn breaking down every time, quiet and gentle and unhurried, so very different from the Rachel Berry who enunciated every syllable and demanded the spotlight at all times.

By Saturday, Quinn felt well enough to leave the house, determined to put on a brave front, and set about convincing Rachel that they should go out to lunch. She pasted a smile on her face—it was small, as she was still so very far from being remotely okay with anything, but it wasn't as forced as she expected it to be—and set down her book, looking over to where Rachel sat struggling with a pre-cal study guide.

"Let's go out," she said after a long moment of watching her friend.

"Let's what?" Rachel said, looking up with her brow furrowed, as if Quinn had suggested they join the circus.

Quinn raised one eyebrow at her, the gesture comforting and familiar, and her tiny smile widened the smallest bit. "Let's go out to lunch," she said. "I want to get out of the house."

"Quinn, you've barely eaten all week, and now you want to go out for the specific purpose of buying food, which you will probably not eat even a tenth of?"

"Yes," Quinn said resolutely. As if to prove her point, she threw the blanket off of her legs and stood from the bed, stretching as far as she could without prompting a ripping pain in her abdomen. "I've been inside all week, and it's spring. I want to go out."

"I don't know," Rachel said. Quinn wasn't sure if she had ever heard Rachel sound quite so dubious, and grimaced at her.

"Well, I'm going," she said. "You can come or not." She moved over to the closet, flipping through her clothes to find something suitable to wear. Her fingers brushed against her favorite pair of jeans, unworn since October and the early stages of her pregnancy, and she hesitated only briefly before tossing them onto the bed behind her.

"You can't drive," Rachel said from behind her.

"Beg your pardon?" Quinn said. "I'm a better driver than you, miss always-ten-under-the-speed-limit."

"It's a speed _limit_, Quinn," Rachel said automatically. "It just means you aren't supposed to go any faster than that, not that you should go at least that fast."

"Whatever you say, granny," Quinn shot back. She located a t-shirt from the one season she had played indoor soccer, long ago in the fifth grade, and grabbed it as well. The old shirt was worn and faded, the collar fraying, and she had only ever worn it around the house or when she went running, but it was comfortable and comforting, a token from when things were simpler.

Quinn turned around, unsurprised to see Rachel standing just behind her, hands on her hips. "So, are you going to come?"

"Well, I guess I have to," Rachel said. "You can't drive. You're still on painkillers."

Quinn shrugged. "No, I'm not," she said, her voice a little bit softer, a little less forcedly flippant. Her smile slipped.

Rachel's eyebrows rose. "The doctor said at least two weeks."

"I'm fine," Quinn said. She forced the smile back up, stepping around Rachel and peeling off her sweatshirt, glad her back was to Rachel so the other girl couldn't see the grimace of pain when she lifted her arms over her head.

"Quinn," Rachel said slowly.

Quinn shook her head, back still to Rachel as she tugged her t-shirt on. "Don't, Rach," she said softly before turning around. "Let it go."

"The doctor said you would be in pain for a while, is all," Rachel said. "It's why he gave you the pills. I just don't want you to be in pain."

"Of course I'm in pain," Quinn snapped, her eyes flashing. "But I'd rather feel like someone kicked me in the stomach than think about why it hurts." Her eyes softened slightly, shoulders slumping. "I take a painkiller, and my stomach doesn't hurt anymore, and then I don't have anything to focus on. I either get loopy and feel stupid happy, which is just disgusting right now, or all I can think about is—"

Her breath caught in her throat, and one of Quinn's hands rose inadvertently to cover her mouth, as if to block the sobs that wanted to break through. Her eyes stung, and she opened them wide, determined to make it at least two hours in one day without crying. Rachel watched her silently, looking so lost that Quinn felt a stab of guilt of an entirely different variety lancing through her chest.

"Just let it go, okay?" she said quietly. "Please. I'm asking you, as a favor for a friend, to let me deal with this my way."

Rachel nodded silently. She stared at Quinn, her jaw clenching and unclenching as she seemed to struggle for the words she wanted. "Okay," she said finally. "Okay." She forced a smile of her own, and Quinn didn't miss for a second that it never quite reached her eyes. "Let me go change and we'll go."

"Okay," Quinn whispered. She watched Rachel walk out of the room, shoulders slumped, and bit her lip.

Half an hour later, they were seated at a Mexican restaurant, Rachel watching in awe as Quinn systematically worked her way through the basket of tortilla chips and bowl of salsa between them. Quinn had always loved Mexican food, having had a penchant for all things spicy since she was a small child, and had loathed the fact that during her pregnancy, just the smells wafting out of a Mexican restaurant had been enough to send her reeling towards a bathroom to vomit.

"I had no idea," Rachel muttered. "You eat like Finn."

"Hey!" Quinn said indignantly. She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin daintily and took a sip of her water. "That's patently untrue. That boy doesn't eat, he shovels. I do _not_ eat like that."

Rachel snorted. "You just ate an entire basket of chips by yourself in under ten minutes."

"I did not!" Quinn said. Rachel raised her eyebrows and pointed to the basket on the table, empty now save for a few chip remnants. Quinn flushed brightly. "Okay, so maybe I was hungry."

Rachel crossed her arms, sitting back smugly. "Victory is sweet," she sang.

"Oh, don't start," Quinn mumbled, glaring across the table at her but wholly unable to keep a smile from spreading across her lips. Rachel merely smirked, shaking her head, and then glanced down at her watch.

"Somewhere to be, sasquatch?" Quinn said teasingly. "Or am I boring you?"

"No, not at all," Rachel said. "I greatly enjoy watching you inhale chips so quickly that I don't get a single one of them." She smirked as Quinn's flush deepened the slightest bit. Her eyes flicked over Quinn's shoulder, and her smirk grew into a grin. Quinn glanced over her shoulder, and her eyebrows rose in surprise, mouth dropping open slightly, when she spotted the entirety of the glee club walking towards their table. Amidst cheerful greetings from the group, Finn and Mike quickly pushed four more tables on either side of the one Rachel and Quinn sat at, and they all plopped down to join them for lunch.

"Hi," Quinn said uncertainly. "What are you guys…?"

"It's the end of the break, girl," Mercedes said dismissively. "We're celebrating our last days of freedom. As a team."

"Yeah," Artie chimed in from where he had staked out a place next to Quinn. "Besides, who doesn't like Mexican food?"

"Certainly not Quinn," Rachel said. "Especially not the chips."

Quinn glared at her, throwing a balled-up napkin across the table. She smirked as it flew between them and smacked Rachel dead in the face. Santana laughed, her chuckle somewhere between demeaning and friendly and Brittany giggled brightly, hugging Quinn awkwardly from her seat next to the blonde; Mercedes snorted behind her menu, and Matt complimented her throwing abilities. From across the table, in his seat next to Rachel, Puck winked at her before elbowing Rachel and putting his arm around her shoulders in a deceptively casual manner; Quinn could see the shadows in his eyes that matched her own, that they both struggled to hide. Kurt, on Rachel's other side, rolled his eyes at Puck's antics and plucked at Rachel's sweater sleeve disdainfully, announcing the necessity of a shopping trip and a makeover that involved neither plaid nor argyle.

Quinn felt her smile growing, the pain in her stomach—it had been far more persistent than she had wanted to admit to Rachel, especially since she had stopped taking the vicodin two days earlier—fading from the forefront of her mind. She bit her lip and forced her attention onto the fact that she was out to lunch with her friends, that there was no judgment or expectation, that she could relax and just _be_ with them, instead of on the nagging pain in her abdomen or the lingering guilt and despair she had felt overwhelm her since she woke up in the hospital. She pushed away her thoughts and daydreams of her daughter and instead listened to Artie's stories and Mercedes' anecdotes and Puck's smartass comments.

It was okay, she told herself, to push away thoughts of the child who was never born in favor of the friends who were there in her stead, just for an afternoon. Her daughter would have understood.


	15. Chapter 15

The return to school was nothing of the subdued affair Quinn had hoped for. By the end of second period, the whole school was aware of the fact that the fallen-from-grace former head cheerleader was no longer pregnant; by lunch, they knew that it was the fault of Dave Karofsky and the Puck had beaten him within an inch of his life. Quinn had gone from a pariah to a martyr over the course of spring break.

The first day was the hardest. People she had never met, people who had shunned her, people who had laughed at her, were coming up to her in the hallways and offering uncomfortable apologies and condolences. One horribly awkward occurrence after another with her teachers came and went.

"I think I liked it more when they were making fun of me," Quinn mumbled as she took a seat between Rachel and Puck at lunch on the second Monday back after break.

"Me too," Puck grumbled. He shot a glare at a gaggle of freshmen girls who were staring openly from two tables away, whispering to one another and pointing at Quinn's stomach. They squeaked in unison and turned back around, and Quinn offered him a half-hearted smile of thanks, carefully avoiding looking into his eyes.

Rachel remained silent, focused on her lunch and the notes in front of her. Looking up for only a brief second, she smiled reassuringly at Quinn and reached out to cover her hand, squeezing gently before picking up her pencil once more.

Brittany and Santana, fashionably late as always, joined them; Santana complained loudly about people stopping her constantly in the halls to ask what had happened and announced her intention to cut the next person who did so. Her voice, as always, floated above the din of the cafeteria, and Quinn smiled at her gratefully, knowing that between Santana and Puck, people would learn quickly to leave her alone. She watched in silence as Brittany and Santana swapped around their lunches, as they had every day since the sixth grade, and found comfort in observing their simple ritual.

Rachel grumbled under her breath, erasing an answer from her homework. Quinn peered at the problem out of the corner of her eye, nibbling on a pretzel. "You've got it," she said after a few more seconds of watching. "You just skipped a step." She pointed at Rachel's paper with her pretzel rod, a few crumbs falling off of it and landing scattered atop Rachel's homework.

"I what?"

"Here," Quinn said. She tapped the spot on the paper where Rachel had skipped a step, and more crumbs fell off. "Sorry," Quinn said, flashing a half of a grin at Rachel and brushing the crumbs away. "But yeah, see here? You just skipped a step."

Rachel stared at her paper, looking back and forth from it to her notes and back again. "Oh," she said eventually. Her ears flushed. "Well, that makes things simpler." She set to erasing her work, brow creased in frustration; before starting to rework the problem, she paused and looked up to offer Quinn a grateful half-smile.

Mercedes and Kurt half-sprinted into the cafeteria, dodging passersby and ignoring the looks everyone was shooting the table that the glee club sat at. Kurt slid athletically into a seat next to Puck, eyes wide and bright.

"Mr. Scheu," he said breathlessly. "Is totally having a nooner with Miss Pillsbury in the supply closet across from the band room."

"What?" Brittany's brow was furrowed in confusion. Santana smirked triumphantly and leaned over to whisper something in her ear; Brittany's expression slid smoothly from bafflement to realization to cheer. Santana shot a look at Puck and held out her hand.

"Pay up, Puckerman," she said.

"Dude," he said disgustedly. He glared at Kurt and Mercedes. "Tell me you're lying."

"Not a chance, white boy," Mercedes said dismissively. "Saw them go in there when they thought no one was looking. There was giggling and hand holding."

"She let him touch her?" Rachel said, not looking up from her math. "I thought she was a complete germaphobe."

"Apparently she doesn't have a problem with his germs," Kurt said regally, his expression far too serious. Quinn snorted, one hand rising to cover her mouth. Kurt glanced at her and smiled, his chin a little lower than it normally was, before his haughty expression and gossip-monger eyes returned.

Puck groaned and dug a twenty out of his wallet, slapping it into Santana's hand. Quinn shook her head, a smile still ghosting across her lips. She stayed quiet, half-listening as the others started hashing out the perceived details of Mr. Scheu's new relationship and what it might mean for glee, and without meaning too glanced over every few seconds at Rachel's homework, eyes skimming over it quickly each time to make sure that she brunette was doing okay.

Rachel finished the problem and dropped her pencil, sighing tiredly and stretching. She slid the paper over towards Quinn, a silent request in her eyes. Quinn raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the paper she had been inspecting out of the corner of her eye the entire time.

"You're good," she said, her voice quite. She unconsciously leaned a little towards Rachel, keeping her voice low enough to stay under the din of the cafeteria and the conversation of their friends. "Just take your time, okay? You know how to do it, you just try to jump ahead."

"I like jumping ahead," Rachel grumbled; she was leaning slightly towards Quinn as well. "Makes things go faster."

"Therein lies the problem," Quinn said good-naturedly. "You may be able to jump ahead of everyone when you're singing and rock it, but you can't do that with math."

Rachel rolled her eyes, snatching her paper back. "Yes, ma'am," she said, and stuck her tongue out at Quinn.

"_That's_ mature," Quinn shot back. She pushed the remainder of her bag of pretzels over to Rachel, reaching across the brunette to grab the apple sitting next to Rachel's textbooks. "Did you bring peanut butter?"

"In my bag," Rachel said distractedly. She reached blindly to hand her backpack to Quinn, not taking her eyes from where she was meticulously organizing the pages of her math homework and checking to make sure she had done all of the assigned problems. Quinn sifted through Rachel's bag expertly, locating the small Tupperware container of peanut butter.

As Quinn grabbed the plastic knife off of Puck's tray—he was far too engrossed in making Artie and Tina squirm with discomfort as he talked about how many times he'd had a nooner of his own in the very same closet that Mr. Scheu was currently in to notice—Rachel immediately reached out and snatched it out of her hand.

"Hey!" Quinn said indignantly.

"No way," Rachel said. She picked up Quinn's apple and started slicing it into pieces expertly. "No knives for you. Remember the carrots?"

"That was one time and my thumb is perfectly fine," Quinn said. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at Rachel.

"The kitchen counter isn't," Rachel said mildly. "And it's a principle thing. You and knives just don't get along." She finished cutting up the apple and offered the slices back to Quinn with a bright smile. "There you go. No blood, no gouged countertops."

Quinn rolled her eyes and snatched up one of the apple slices, dipping it delicately in the peanut butter. She slapped Rachel's hand away when the brunette reached for one of the slices as well.

"You two are like the most adorable married couple," Kurt said, appearing suddenly on Rachel's other side. "Splitting lunches, trading food, she cuts up your apple for you." He propped his chin in his hand, looking back and forth between the two of them dreamily.

"We are not," Rachel said. "Quinn is spastic with cutlery and my fathers' kitchen counter will never recover from her last foray into using a knife." She ignored Quinn's noise of protest and the elbow the blonde shoved into her ribs. "And trading lunches doesn't mean anything. I mean, Brittany and Santana switch food every day."

"Exactly," Kurt said. His gaze zeroed in on Rachel, looking at her expectantly.

"What?" Rachel squeaked out. "Don't be ridiculous. They aren't—"

"Actually," Quinn said quietly, smirking the slightest bit. "Yeah."

"Really?" Rachel's eyes widened impossibly, and she stared none-too-subtly at the cheerleaders. Brittany was standing behind Santana, who was seated and tossing in her own commentary on Puck's nooner stories, fingers probing through her dark ponytail almost absentmindedly.

"Really," Quinn confirmed. "Since, like…forever."

"Wow," Rachel said. Kurt slapped her arm lightly.

"Stop staring," he admonished. "It's not remotely subtle." He glanced surreptitiously over at Brittany and Santana. "You need to work on your acts of subterfuge, Miss Argyle."

The bell rang, drowning out Rachel's indignant response. Quinn gathered her things silently, following Rachel and Kurt out of the cafeteria. In the hallway, Kurt suddenly grabbed Rachel's elbow and yanked her to one side, whispering something in her ear. Quinn watched, perplexed, as Rachel gaped at Kurt, and a dark flush spread across her cheeks and down her neck. Kurt smirked in his infuriatingly calm manner, fluttered a wave at Quinn, and strode off down the hallway.

"What was that about?" Quinn said, looping her arm through Rachel's and steering them towards their history class.

"Nothing," Rachel half-stammered.

"That was convincing," Quinn deadpanned. She shot Rachel a disapproving look out of the corner of her eye. "Come on, Elphaba. Cough it up."

"Brittany!" Rachel all but yelled. She disentangled her arm from Quinn's, waving exaggeratedly at Brittany, who turned and returned the wave brightly. The blonde all but skipped up to join them, full of cheer and bright eyes as always.

Quinn frowned, watching as Rachel obviously forced herself to act casual and talk with the usually animated Brittany. Both blondes were aware of Rachel's discomfort—Brittany, Quinn was wont to forget, was far more perceptive than people ever gave her credit for—and Quinn watched curiously as Rachel tried desperately to cover it up.

In the classroom, Quinn took her usual seat beside Rachel, still perplexed by Rachel's odd behavior. As usual, Rachel kept rapt attention on the lesson, raising her hand for every question. Not as usual—or what had become usual in over the course of the semester—she didn't glance over at Quinn every so often to roll her eyes at an entertaining part of the lesson, or lean over to check her notes against Quinn's, or look over at her in an undisguised effort to make sure she was neither about to vomit nor go into labor. Rachel's eyes remained locked on either the teacher or her notes, and Quinn barely wrote down a single thing the entire class.

When the bell rang, Rachel mumbled something about a meeting and all but sprinted out of the room. Quinn stared after her, making her way slowly out into the hallway. Brittany, coming out of the classroom across the hall, was watching as Rachel power-walked down the hallway, the tension in her shoulders visible even through the material of her sweater.

"What's up with Rachel?" Brittany asked quietly, clutching her books to her chest. Her good-hearted concern was undisguised, as things always were with Brittany, and for a painful moment Quinn wished that everyone in the world could be like Brittany.

"I have no idea," she murmured. An uncomfortable feeling spread in her chest when Rachel paused at the end of the hall and glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes immediately locking on Quinn's even through the mass of students, before a pained look passed over Rachel's features and she hurried off on her way. Quinn stood dumbly in the hallway, and for the first time in two weeks, Sarah Noelle Puckerman occupied not even the farthest corner of her mind as she wondered what in the world had gotten into Rachel.


	16. Chapter 16

Quinn sat at her desk, staring pensively at the papers in front of her, the eraser of her pencil tapping along absentmindedly to the sound of the Raveonettes drifting from the speakers on her laptop. She had been staring at the calculus study guide in front of her—a gift from the teacher to the class, as the first stages of preparation for the upcoming AP exam—for half an hour; the review was elementary, and had done nothing to hold her focus from shifting to Rachel's odd behavior for the second half of the day.

Whatever Kurt had said to Rachel had prompted her to avoid Quinn for the rest of the school day, and, more impressively, even after they returned to the house. Quinn wasn't entirely sure how someone could avoid someone they lived with so perfectly, but Rachel was doing an admirable job. Quinn had tried catching up to her in the hallways, catching her eye during class, and elbowing her subtly during glee practice; she had thought that at the least, she would get a chance to get Rachel to talk on the drive home, but the brunette had brightly informed Quinn that she needed to talk to her pre-cal teacher about something and it might take a while and she'd already called one of her parents to come pick her up later, so Quinn was free to go on home. Quinn had considered waiting around outside the school until Rachel came out, fantasizing about smacking her in the back of the head and asking her why she was being so avoidant, but had decided that such actions would be slightly too stalkerish and that hers and Rachel's friendship was still just new enough for that to disrupt things.

When Rachel had skipped out on dinner, though, and stayed in her room both when Quinn left to go see her family for a few hours and when Quinn returned, Quinn found herself fed up. The calculus study guide would have to wait. She tossed her pencil down and stood abruptly from her chair, too engrossed in her thoughts to even notice that the sudden movements—for the first time in two weeks—didn't hurt in the least.

Stalking out of her room and across to Rachel's door, Quinn rapped her knuckles smartly against the door at the same time she pushed it open unannounced. Rachel, sitting on the floor by the foot of her bed with pages of sheet music spread out around her, squeaked in surprise, her eyes wide and mouth open.

"Quinn!" she said. She sounded halfway to breathless.

Quinn shut the door behind her and leaned back against it, arms crossed authoritatively across her chest. "You're avoiding me," she said bluntly. "I want to know why."

Rachel looked back down at the sheet music, straightening a few of the pages. "I'm not avoiding you," she said. "I just had some things I needed to do this afternoon."

"Bull," Quinn shot back.

"Really," Rachel said insistently. She half-glared at Quinn, chin stuck out stubbornly and eyes too wide to be really honest.

"Come on, Rachel," Quinn said. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it, okay, fine, whatever. Tell me you don't want to talk about it. But don't treat me like a child." Her voice hitched in the slightest, and her confidence wavered. "Everyone's treating me like I'm going to shatter right now, and I'm tired of it. I'm not broken."

"But you are," Rachel said softly. Her hands shot up to cover her mouth, eyes widening impossibly more. Quinn remained motionless, staring at her levelly.

"I'm not broken," she repeated.

"You're hurt," Rachel said, hands lowering slowly. She flushed delicately and cast her eyes down to where her fingers were twisting in her lap. "You don't want anyone to see it, but we all know it. You were hurt and you want to bounce back, but you can't bounce back from everything, Quinn, and trying to make yourself move on and be fine when you need time to heal isn't going to do you any good in the long run and—"

"I'm not broken," Quinn ground out. She couldn't keep the edge out of her voice, or stop herself from stepping threateningly away from the door and glaring at Rachel. Consciously, she tamped down on the roll of anger and frustration in her chest and softened her tone. "If I was so broken, I wouldn't care that you were avoiding me."

"Or maybe you care too much about it because you need something else to focus on," Rachel offered.

Quinn scoffed and rolled her eyes. "So you admit it now?"

"No!"

Quinn shook her head. "Too late to backtrack over that one," she said sardonically. "Look, I'm dealing with this my way, okay?" She took a slow breath, counting to three in her head. "When I'm not completely controlled by pregnancy hormones, I don't tend to cry much at all, and certainly not around other people. I manage things in private, and I move on in private, and that's all that matters. I'm dealing with this, I'm not avoiding it, and I _want_ to know why you're avoiding me."

Rachel remained silent, fingers clenching repeatedly at the material of her sweatpants and eyes locked on her lap. Quinn watched the second hand on the truly atrocious pink and blue clock hanging over Rachel's desk click away a full minute before sighing frustratedly. Moving away from the door, she stepped over the sheet music to stand next to Rachel and lowered herself to the floor.

"Scoot over, man-hands," she muttered, elbowing Rachel gently until there was room for her to sit next to the brunette within the small clear area by the foot of the bed. She opened her mouth to comment on the inexplicable but obvious tension she could feel from where her side pressed up against Rachel's, but instead she focused her attention on the pages of sheet music.

"What is all this?"

"Music," Rachel mumbled. Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Clearly." A slight lilt to her tone conveyed her amusement. "But why is it all out on the floor?"

"I was thinking about the songs," Rachel said. She finally unclenched her hands, reaching out and straightening a few of the sheets at her side.

"What for? An audition?"

"Not exactly," Rachel muttered. "Just thinking, really."

"Right," Quinn said. "Because that makes sense." She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her shins and peering over top of her knees, chin resting on one denim-clad knee, at the music. One of her eyebrows rose, and she turned her head to look at Rachel, cheek now pressed against her knee.

"These are all love songs," she said. "Are you planning on serenading Mr. Scheu again?" She smirked good-naturedly, and it grew into a small smile when Rachel barked out a short laugh.

"Not even," she said.

"So, what then?" Quinn asked quietly. She watched silently as Rachel bit down on her lower lip and looked anywhere but at Quinn.

"Rachel," Quinn tried again. She stayed still, absurdly afraid that if she moved it would send Rachel bolting out the window. "What's going on? Does this have something to do with what Kurt said to you after lunch?"

"No!" Rachel half-shouted, far too insistently to do anything but tell Quinn that it absolutely had to do with what Kurt had said.

Quinn sighed. She straightened up, leaning back against the foot of Rachel's bed tiredly and shaking her hair out of her eyes. "Okay," she said after a long pause, her patience—always average at best—dissipating quickly. She pushed herself up to her feet. "When you feel like talking to me about it, you know where I am."

She carefully stepped over the sheet music once more, making her way out of the room silently. In her room, she dropped down into the chair by her desk once more, a frustrated sigh pushing past her lips. She considered texting Santana, who always seemed to have more insight and advice than people expected of her, but decided against it; she'd heard Brittany mention that the two of them were having a trash television marathon that night, which would no doubt devolve into something far more carnal between the two of them that Quinn absolutely did not want to interrupt.

Just as Quinn decided to just go to the source of the problem and nag Kurt until his perfectly coiffed head exploded and he told her what he had said to Rachel, Quinn's door opened without preamble and Rachel stood in the doorway. Quinn, phone in hand, felt her mouth drop open slightly, eyebrows raised in silent question. Rachel hesitated, bottom lip caught between her teeth, before stepping purposefully over the threshold and shutting the door behind her. Quinn flipped her phone shut and set it on the desk, crossing her arms and looking at Rachel in silent expectation.

"You're right," Rachel blurted out. "I have been avoiding you."

Quinn swallowed the urge to make an extremely sarcastic remark, and simply continued to stare at Rachel, who looked so uncomfortable that Quinn felt like they had flown back in time a full year and she was still the Cheerio captain who tormented Rachel in the hallways of school.

"It wasn't very mature of me," Rachel continued. "I apologize for that. When I have something that I need to deal with, I should hardly behave so childishly."

"Noted," Quinn said impatiently. "Avoidance equals immaturity. Check."

Rachel fell silent momentarily, staring at Quinn uncomfortably, before taking a slow, deep breath. "Forget this," she mumbled under her breath, stepping over to stand next to where Quinn still sat with crossed arms. "Don't hit me, please."

As Quinn was about to ask Rachel what she was going on about, Rachel, hands moving to grip Quinn's shoulders lightly, leaned down and pressed her lips against Quinn's. Quinn's eyes flew open impossibly wide at the feel of Rachel kissing her, her entire body tensing at the surprise attack as she froze completely.

Rachel jerked back after a few long, awkward seconds, hands sliding from Quinn's shoulders as she took two steps back. Quinn stared at her, fully aware that she was gaping like a child and not caring a whit because Rachel Berry had just kissed her, completely out of the blue.

"That's what Kurt was talking about today after lunch," Rachel blurted out. "He told me that I should stop staring at you and just kiss you and I didn't think that anyone knew and it completely caught me off guard and I didn't know what to do, so I just avoided you while I tried to make sense of it all—"

"Kurt told you to kiss me?" Quinn said slowly. The confusion was as evident in her voice as it was certainly on her features.

"He told me to relocate my backbone and make a move, to be specific," Rachel said. Her blush deepened, her hands once again twisting together. "You're not mad, are you?"

"Mad? Quinn echoed. Her eyebrows came together, forehead creased as she tried to organize her thoughts. She stood, pushing her hands through her hair and taking a deep breath; she inadvertently stepped behind the chair, putting it between her and Rachel. "I…. don't know. Kurt told you to make a move on me?"

"This isn't about Kurt!" Rachel half-shouted. Quinn stared at her, eyes wide. "It's about me and you," Rachel continued, her voice softer.

"Me and you," Quinn said. She shook her head, rubbing her hand over her eyes. "You… you kissed me."

"I did," Rachel said. Her flush was fading slowly, skin returning to its usual tan hue; she hooked her hands together behind her back and regarded Quinn with what was obviously forced calm.

"You kissed me," Quinn said again. "You _kissed _me."

"I think we've established that fact," Rachel offered.

"Quiet," Quinn snapped. "You don't get to give me a big lesbian smooch and then be flippant about it."

"Sorry," Rachel mumbled; her calm dissolved the slightest bit.

"I'm not gay," Quinn said. Her eyes were wide and she stared at Rachel, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach.

"We're still in high school, Quinn," Rachel said, her voice gentle. "We're too young to know where our sexual orientations may or may not lie, and it's silly to try to pinpoint them at this age."

"No," Quinn said, shaking her head fervently. "You can experiment all you want, but I'm not gay."

"Quinn," Rachel said. Her voice wavered slightly, and at the sound of it, Quinn felt a small stab of pain in her chest cut through the fog of confusion and fear that had blossomed in her head. "I kissed you because I wanted to. Not because Kurt told me to, or because I grew up with two gay parents, or because I wanted to convert you into a lesbian or confuse you or anything like that. I've wanted to for a long time and I'm sorry if my doing so is going to put you into some identity crisis—"

"Do what?" Quinn interrupted, eyes snapping up to catch Rachel's. "How long?"

"Since Finn came by before Christmas," Rachel said sheepishly.

"_What_?"

Rachel shrugged. "You know, the thing that you never saw for years was that even when you were making fun of me at school or wherever, the few times we actually spoke outside of a social context, we got along pretty well. We're pretty compatible, all things considered, which is probably why we were able to become friends after all of the things that happened. I always knew that, but it… I don't know. It changed after Finn came by and acted like a jerk and I realized that I wanted to hit him for making you cry. After that…" She shrugged once more. "It wasn't a big leap from that to wanting to kiss you."

"You never said anything."

"Other things were more important," Rachel said simply. "Like you being pregnant. And glee. And me sucking at pre-cal and needing to study all the time."

"Right," Quinn said, confusion lacing her voice. "You can choose to be super-rational about that, but not about what Kurt said?"

"I didn't think anyone knew," Rachel said slowly. "I thought I had done a better job of managing my feelings and my expressions, but apparently Kurt figured it out regardless. He caught me off guard."

"Right there with you," Quinn muttered. She sat on the edge of her bed, chewing on her thumbnail distractedly.

"Quinn," Rachel said after a long silence. "I realize you're confused right now, and that I surprised you with this. I understand that you'll want time to think about it."

"Time to think?" Quinn said. "Rachel, I'm sorry, but I like guys. Always have."

"So do I," Rachel said. "I did date Puck, remember? For all his qualities, intellectual conversation is hardly a forte." She moved cautiously across the space separating them, stopping when she stood directly in front of Quinn, forcing Quinn to tilt her chin up if she wanted to meet Rachel's eyes. "The point is, I like guys. But I also like you. I like that you color code your notes and can quote _The Princess Bride _and always sing along to those atrociously catchy Lady GaGa songs. I like all of that about you, and I like your sarcasm and your intelligence and that you seem to get why I am the way I am, and I'm attracted to you. It's that simple."

"Nothing is that simple," Quinn said weakly. She couldn't hold Rachel's eyes, her gaze shifting to a spot somewhere behind Rachel's left ear.

"It is," Rachel said. "Everything isn't that simple, and I'm not saying it would be. But this? This is simple." She took a step closer, minimizing the distance between them; the material of her sweatpants brushed against the denim covering Quinn's knees. Rachel reached out slowly, as if Quinn were a deer about to bolt, and gently pushed some of Quinn's hair back from where it had fallen in her face.

Quinn bit down on her lower lip, an ache building in her temples from the myriad of thoughts running through her head. The loudest part of her was screaming, in a voice that sounded painfully like her father had the night he kicked her out, that this was just wrong and immoral, that Rachel was perverted and trying to impose her perversion on Quinn. Not as loudly, but just as insistently, was the impatient whisper in the back of her head that brought up every time Rachel's gaze had lingered on Quinn, how readily the brunette had forgiven her, how protective Rachel had been of Quinn through all the trials of the past months, how safe Quinn had come to feel in Rachel's presence, and said that such things could hardly be bad or immoral simply because Rachel as a girl.

Quinn's eyes drifted down, locking on her knees. She wasn't gay, she thought insistently. It didn't bother her as much as she might have expected that Rachel could be gay, but Quinn fervently believed that she herself simply wasn't.

"Quinn," Rachel said, in the same gentle tone she spoke in whenever Quinn woke in the middle of the night from a nightmare with a racing heart and teary eyes. Her fingers were still in Quinn's hair, thumb against Quinn's forehead and palm resting feather-light against her cheek; her hand slid loose from Quinn's hair to hook a finger beneath her chin and tilt her head back until she had to look at Rachel. "I'm going to kiss you again." She remained still, eyes locked on Quinn's with every bit as much focus and fervor as had radiated out of them when she carried glee to a victory at sectionals.

"I…okay?" Quinn mumbled. Her brain continued to turn in circles, thoughts and voices and opinions racing through and around and over one another, but she couldn't find any other words to formulate.

Rachel's lips curled into a smile at Quinn's words, and she leaned forward, closing what remained of the distance between her and Quinn. Quinn's eyes slipped shut at the last minute, and then Rachel's lips were pressed against hers once more and the only thought in Quinn's head was that she could hardly believe she had never considered any of this before. Rachel's hand remained firm under Quinn's chin, her lips moving slowly until Quinn found herself returning the kiss without even meaning to. She felt Rachel's other hand move up to thread into her hair, and though Quinn's hands remained clenched together atop her thighs, she leaned forward and up into the kiss, tilting her head back to pull Rachel in further.

It wasn't like kissing Finn, who was always far too tall and awkward and never seemed to be able to find a middle ground between a chaste kiss on the cheek and a full-on petting session. It wasn't like kissing Puck, who was almost painfully controlled at all times, born from far more experience than any boy his age should have. It wasn't like the boy she'd kissed at summer camp two years ago, just months before she started dating Finn, who had flushed purple the first time his tongue brushed against hers and he immediately leapt back to apologize for his giving in to temptation. It wasn't the most arousing kiss Quinn had ever experienced—Puck, for all that he was far too controlled and gentle with her, as if she would break like a China doll, had certainly learned plenty before he ever fell into bed with her—but it banished all the confusion and thoughts that had threatened to overwhelm Quinn's head, and pushed away the constantly nagging thoughts of her stillborn daughter, and effectively erased all coherent thought from Quinn's mind until all she could comprehend was the fact that she was kissing Rachel Berry and it didn't really matter too much that they were both girls.

By the time Rachel broke the kiss, both of them were bordering on breathless, with bright eyes and flushed cheeks; Rachel leaned her forehead against Quinn's temple, breathing heavily. Quinn was motionless, hands still intertwined on her lap and eyes wide; after the longest time, she relaxed slowly, leaning against Rachel bonelessly.

"Okay," Quinn said eventually. Her voice was unrecognizable even to Quinn herself; quiet and husky and entirely unlike her. "Okay."

"Okay what?" Rachel's breath ghosted across Quinn's cheek and neck, sending a small tremor down the blonde's spine.

"Okay," Quinn said a third time. "Okay, maybe we can give this a try." She leaned back the slightest bit. "I don't know much of anything anymore," she admitted softly. "Everything's changed this year, and I don't know if this is what either of us actually wants, but I'm trying to be the person I'd want to be the mother of my daughter to have been, and she wouldn't be close-minded like my parents are."

Rachel smiled at her, a quiet understated smile that so rarely was shown, oft overridden by one of the eight rehearsed smiles and grins that she had compiled for headshots and auditions. "Okay," she said. Cautiously, she leaned in towards Quinn and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. "That sounds wonderful."

Quinn nodded, finally untangling her hands, one moving up to rest against Rachel's arm. Rachel straightened up slowly, her own hands sliding down to rest on Quinn's shoulders. "It's late," Quinn said, glancing at the clock as if to prove her point.

"Yeah, it is," Rachel said absently. "We should probably sleep." She paused, biting her lip, and looked at Quinn uncertainly. Immediately, Quinn knew that she was waiting to see what Quinn wanted to do—she had slept with Quinn every night since Quinn returned from the hospital, except when Quinn's sister had stayed over, and clearly expected to continue to do so.

"I…" Quinn hesitated, biting down on her lip. "I think I'll be okay on my own tonight." She avoided the wounded look on Rachel's face, but simply knowing it was there was enough to make her throat ache. Glancing up at Rachel, she offered what she prayed was an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I just… I need to sort some things out, you know?"

"I understand," Rachel said, voice overly bright. "Absolutely." She pushed some of Quinn's hair back behind her ear before stepping back.

"Thanks," Quinn whispered. She stayed where she was, awkwardness spreading between them as the seconds ticked past.

"Okay then," Rachel said. "I guess that's my cue to go." She reached out for Quinn, her hands freezing in the air momentarily before she pushed ahead anyways and took Quinn's hands, pulling the other girl to her feet. Quinn could feel both of their hands shaking, and ducked her head. Rachel, far shorter than Quinn's athletic frame when she wasn't wearing heels, leaned up on her toes and pressed a final kiss to Quinn's lips before pulling back quickly. "Good night."

"Night," Quinn mumbled. She searched desperately for something—anything—to say that would negate the poorly disguised frustration in Rachel's eyes, that could convince the brunette that even though she was prone to be utterly baffled about something like this didn't mean she was opposed to the fact that kissing Rachel felt far more comforting than anything she'd ever done. Nothing came to her mind, though, but Quinn nonetheless felt her mouth open and a question floating out.

"What was with the sheet music?"

Rachel paused in the doorway, the door pulled half open, and looked over her shoulder with a blush. "I was trying to find a song," she said embarrassedly. "Everyone always said that I'm better when I sing."

Quinn nodded slowly, as if on autopilot. That was so terribly Rachel, and the thought was unbelievably and inexplicably comforting. "Makes sense," she said. "Didn't need it, though."

"No," Rachel said. "I suppose I didn't." With a final smile, Rachel stepped out the door. She paused once more, turning back to Quinn. "If you need anything, you know where I am."

"Yeah," Quinn said. "I do." She smiled, and was surprised that it didn't feel too forced. She watched as Rachel shut the door behind her softly, and remained standing awkwardly in the center of her bedroom. One hand drifted up, fingers brushing over her lips unconsciously. She was still standing there long after she heard Rachel's sleep playlist start and Rachel's dads close their door and the light in the hall turn off, fingers ghosting over her lips as she tried to reason through exactly what had just happened.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: I'm not terribly happy with how this chapter came out, but I've redone it a few times and don't think of any other way it could really play out. Hopefully it doesn't suck too epically.

Also, it seems like the metaphorical shit has hit the fan in my life in a culmination of medical and insurance drama, which is why there was a big delay before I could post this chapter; it also means I have no clue how long it will or won't be till I can get anything else written. Hopefully not too long? I'll do what I can.

* * *

The next morning, Quinn slept through her alarm and woke to the sound of Rachel's elliptical whirring away across the hall, a subtle undercurrent to the sound of Shearwater from the automatic start on her iPod. Grumbling discontentedly—she usually was awake shortly before Rachel, enjoying an unrushed hour to wake up and drink her requisite three cups of coffee before they had to leave for school—she tossed the covers back and slid out of bed. She paused on her way to the bathroom, one hand frozen in the midst of pushing her hair back off her neck, when she caught sight of the calculus homework she hadn't finished the night before, on account of Rachel kissing her and the subsequent confusion it had caused.

Quinn stared at the unfinished set of math problems, thoughts racing through a sleepy haze to return once more to the night before. Unconsciously, her head tilted towards the hallway, a tiny smile dancing across her lips at the familiar sound of Rachel's elliptical and the same playlist she listened to every morning floating across into Quinn's room.

Quinn had never been blessed with an abundance of patience, nor any particular tolerance for indecision. It may have been a result of being reared in a household that was not only set in its beliefs, but so wholeheartedly so that there was no room for indecision; or it may have simply just been an inherent part of her character. Regardless of why she was as she was, though, she found her utter inability to come to a decision about how she felt about the previous night to be abundantly frustrating.

She would be lying to herself if she said she was wholly averse to the idea of kissing Rachel, or even going out on a date with her; the fact that Rachel's kiss had effectively silenced every coherent thought in her head told Quinn as much. Yet it would be similarly deceiving if she tried to say that the she had changed enough to not be bothered by the fact that Rachel happened to be very definitively female; Quinn's entire upbringing, for all that had been challenged repeatedly over the past year, was still yet to be overturned.

The sound of Rachel's elliptical practically pounded in her ears as she went through the motions of showering and dressing and perfecting her make-up, and followed her down the stairs as she yawned and waved sleepily to Rachel's fathers and ripped through four cups of coffee and the comics from the newspaper. Logically she knew, as she poured her fifth cup of coffee and unthinkingly put another pot on for Rachel's parents, that Rachel must have been off the elliptical by then and was probably almost done with her shower, but the whirring sound continued to echo in her head.

Glancing at the clock, Quinn made a split second decision and bolted up the stairs to gather her books and backpack. Carefully not looking towards Rachel's door, she flitted back down the stairs and into the kitchen grabbing her car keys out of the bowl by the door.

"I have to talk to my math teacher about the AP exam," she told Eric, who was still on only his third cup and a little bleary-eyed behind the newspaper. "Could you tell Rachel I had to go in early?"

"Sure," he mumbled through a yawn. "Aren't the AP exams like two months off?"

"Six weeks," Quinn said distractedly. She flashed a small grin and shrugged. "But it's never too early, right? Especially with calculus."

"Suit yourself," he said with a shrug and a good-natured smile. "I still don't get what you find so important about calculus, of all things. Math is stupid." It was a debate the two of them had gone through countless times since Quinn moved in—Eric, a political science professor, and Rachel always teamed up against Quinn and Rachel's other dad, Paul, who worked as a pediatrician but had a passion for economic theory.

Quinn smiled a little wider, shaking her head. She buttoned up her coat with nimble fingers, proud that she hesitated only the tiniest bit at how easily the coat—too small for her pregnant belly so recently—closed around her flattened and now barely-discolored stomach. Her smile slipped only minutely, and she hitched it back up before raising her head to bid Eric good-bye. As the door closed behind her, she heard the sound of light footsteps descending the stairs, and thought a silent prayer of thanks for her timing.

The parking lot was deserted at school, save for a few other cars that looked to have been there all weekend. Quinn felt a fleeting moment of idle triumph as she slid her car into one of the coveted spots closest to the main building, and wondered if not having to trek across the entire parking lot would be worth getting up half an hour earlier every day.

She wandered the empty halls without thinking, pausing only to put her history textbook into her locker, and eventually found herself standing awkwardly alone in the middle of the rehearsal room. Arms hugging her books tightly to her chest, she stared at an unspecific spot on the floor just to the right of one of the chairs, unbidden memories floating into her consciousness. That was where they had all performed their mash-ups, when Finn had been so jittery he couldn't hold still and Rachel had talked like a hummingbird on steroids. Just in front of her was where she and Finn had sat while the rest of the club sang their support to them, and she had felt for the first time that she might make it through her pregnancy scandal—Babygate '09, as Santana had dubbed it—and be okay. To the left was where things had completely unraveled and Finn had pummeled Puck when the truth came out.

And there was where the keyboard had sat, six chairs and four music stands marking the distance between Quinn and Rachel, when Rachel had cornered her for an apology and the shaky foundations of a friendship had been born; the keyboard was packed away in the storage closet now, the piano finally back in the room after being sent out for repairs.

Quinn smiled faintly, thinking back to Rachel's insistent comparison of their relationship to _Wicked_, and finally moved from her spot in the center of the floor. She dropped her books into one of the spare chairs and made her way over to where the piano sat, sliding onto the bench and sliding her fingers over the keys. The ivory was cool and familiar under her fingers, and she experimentally ran out a few scales.

Resituating herself on the bench, pushing her shoulders back to correct her posture, Quinn let her eyes slip shut and her fingers start to move on the keys, biting down on her lower lip as she struggled to remember the music she had played so often when she was younger. Her brow furrowed as she picked her way through the piece, wincing visibly when she made a mistake, and she sank into the rhythm and the music. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed playing the piano, how effectively it had always calmed her heart and silenced her thoughts. Singing in glee came close, but to date, only the adrenaline rush of exercise that had pushed her into gymnastics and cheerleading had quieted her mind like the piano had.

And, Quinn thought suddenly, her mind breaking free from the comforting lull of melody and muscle memory, Rachel's kiss. The sudden thought broke through the calm that had started to form as she played, and her hands faltered in the middle of an arpeggio, the sound that had filled the room cutting off abruptly.

"I didn't know you played." Mr. Scheu's voice was gentle, pushing through Quinn's mild panic; she started, unaware that she had had an audience. He stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets and head cocked to one side slightly.

"What was that?" he asked. "I've never heard it before."

"Alexander Scriabin," Quinn said quietly. Her voice bordered on fragile, hanging in the air delicately. "Piano concerto."

Mr. Scheu only nodded, staying silent. He moved into the room, halving the distance between the door and the piano. Quinn folded her hands in her lap, her eyes staying on the piano keys.

"Are you okay, Quinn?" he asked. They both pretended not to notice the hesitance in his voice. She hadn't had a real interaction with Mr. Scheu since that one awkward time in his and his wife's apartment, when she had hugged him through her tears and thanked God that at least her child would have a good father.

"I'm okay," she said automatically.

"You know--" He faltered slightly. "It's okay if you're not."

"I'm okay," she said again.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes?"

"Right," he said, nodding slowly. "Absolutely believable."

Quinn laughed softly in spite of herself, shaking her head sadly. She took a slow, deep breath, squaring her shoulders and forcing herself to meet his eyes.

"I'm managing," she said firmly. "I'm not great, but I'm getting better."

"Have you moved back home?"

"No," she whispered. "Not yet."

"But you might?"

"I've thought about it," Quinn said evasively. She refrained from adding that she had been up half the night trying to consider every possible scenario for how things might play out with Rachel, that she had somehow found herself almost as uncomfortable with the idea of starting to date someone who she already shared a bathroom with as she was by the whole Rachel-being-a-girl facet of the situation; that was probably more than Mr. Scheu wanted to deal with before first period. "I don't think I'm ready yet."

He nodded once more, seeming to search for words. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, and they both jumped when Rachel cleared her throat from the doorway.

"Mr. Scheu," she said cordially. "May I please speak to Quinn for a minute?"

"Sure," he said slowly, eyes darting back and forth between Quinn sitting at the piano and Rachel standing in the doorway with her chin determinedly raised and arms clutching her books to her chest. "I'll see you guys in class."

"Thank you," Rachel said, ever polite. She moved to the side to allow him to pass before stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her. "Good morning," she said to Quinn.

"Morning," Quinn mumbled. Her eyes dropped back to the piano keys.

"You should have just said that you needed some space," Rachel said abruptly. "Instead of lying to my father and hiding in the music room to avoid me."

"I'm not avoiding you," Quinn said automatically.

"Right. You came to school almost an hour early because you wanted to talk to a teacher who never shows up before second period anyways. And that's completely ignoring the fact that you aren't, in fact, in the calculus room, but instead are in the music room playing Chopin."

"Scriabin," Quinn corrected without thinking. Her brow furrowed. "How long were you out there?"

"Since before Mr. Scheu showed up," Rachel said with a shrug. "Don't try to change the subject, Quinn."

"I… okay, fine," Quinn said with a sigh. She glanced up to where Rachel stood with an unreadable expression in her eyes, and felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry." Her sleepless night caught up to her, and a wave of fatigue swept through her body.

Rachel's eyes softened immeasurably, and she sat down next to Quinn, concern masked across her features. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"I'm just tired," Quinn said. "I didn't sleep well."

"Because of me?"

"No," Quinn responded quickly. "Well…kind of? But mostly me."

"What?"

Quinn sighed. "I'm confused," she admitted. Briefly, she wondered where her infamous stubbornness had run away to. The girl who had blackmailed a full yearbook page from Sue Sylvester certainly never would have caved so easily. Perhaps she could blame her current lack of a spine on fatigue and leave it at that; it scared her far too much to consider the possibility that she gave in simply because she had come to trust Rachel almost unconditionally. "And I thought that I was done with being confused about things for a while, after—after the hospital and things starting to blow over with Puck and Finn and my parents. And I really thought I was done being confused about you."

"Oh," Rachel said. She fell silent, still staring openly at Quinn. "I'm sorry."

Quinn didn't respond; she ran her fingers over the keys and felt her shoulders droop slowly. Her head followed suit, her neck bowing and chin dropping towards her chest, followed by her eyes starting to drift shut. She had no idea how she was going to manage through an entire day of school and glee practice feeling like this.

The first bell rang. Quinn wondered when it had gotten to be time for first period, and groaned. As she dropped her hands to the bench and prepared to push herself up, she felt a flurry of movement as Rachel leapt to her feet, set her books atop the piano, and reached out a solid hand to Quinn's shoulder to keep her seated, all in one smooth movement.

"I have to go to class," Quinn said slowly, confusion evident in her voice.

"No, you don't," Rachel said. "You need to get some sleep."

"I'll be fine," Quinn said. She moved to push herself to her feet again, but Rachel's hand remained heavy on her shoulder."

"Quinn, you look terrible," Rachel said bluntly. "I mean, you look beautiful, but you also look completely exhausted. I'm sorry, but you need to go home and get some rest. I know you haven't really slept well since you came home from the hospital, and apparently far less so last night. You really need to catch up on your rest." Fixing a determined glare at Quinn, Rachel pointed a stern finger at her. "Stay." She finally removed her hand, locating her cell phone from her bag and punching in a few numbers.

"I'm not a dog," Quinn muttered, but she remained seated. She truly was exhausted, and it took far more energy to argue with Rachel than she was capable of conjuring. She finally gave in to the fatigue, and folded her arms atop the piano, resting her head on her arms and letting her eyes drift shut once more.

She didn't open her eyes until she felt Rachel sit next to her again; she sat back tiredly and leaned against Rachel without thinking about it. Rachel's arm slid comfortingly around her waist, secure and gentle. "Brittany's going to drive you home," Rachel murmured into Quinn's hair. "She has a math quiz first period, and Beck's got a doctor's appointment, so she wants to wait until she has someone she can copy off of."

Quinn snorted sleepily. "Fitting." She paused, and then asked without really meaning to, "You can't…?"

"I have a quiz in math, too," Rachel said. "But I'll fake sick and come home after second period."

Quinn felt like she should argue—it honestly didn't feel like she'd be much of a friend if she didn't at least try to convince Rachel not to skip school—but she had to admit that last night had proven that she couldn't yet sleep alone, and Rachel had proven time and again to be the best sleep aid around. "Okay." She relaxed against Rachel, the feel of Rachel's fingers in her hair lulling her towards sleep.

After a few short minutes, Rachel slid her arm from Quinn's waist and slowly stood. "Come on, Brittany will be here in a minute."

Quinn grumbled discontentedly, not wanting to move. "Come on, Q," Rachel said. "Don't make me drag you up."

"Threats are unnecessary," Quinn shot back at her. Her voice was, unsurprisingly, entirely free of either malice or agitation. She allowed Rachel to pull her to her feet, yawning all the way. She wondered how it was that she had managed to drive into school that morning at all; she could hardly imagine getting behind the wheel of a car when she was this exhausted.

"Quinn," Rachel said softly.

"Hmm?"

Instead of speaking, Rachel stood up on her toes and kissed Quinn gently. Quinn's eyes, formerly half closed, flew open abruptly, and then slid back shut; after a slight hesitation—in her fatigue, it was harder to quash the paternalistic voice in her head that swore that God was about to smite her—she returned the kiss chastely.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said as she broke away. "For stressing you out about all of this."

"It's okay," Quinn said. She noticed that her hand was hanging limply in Rachel's, and through her weariness squeezed Rachel's fingers gently. "I'm okay. Really. I just… am having a harder time processing it than I'd like."

"Take your time," Rachel said immediately. "As long as you need."

"Thanks," Quinn whispered. She squeezed Rachel's hand, her breath hitching in her throat momentarily as Rachel's thumb traced over her knuckles briefly before releasing.

The door opened noisily, and Brittany walked in. "Hey," she said brightly. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Quinn said slowly. "Thank you."

"It's no problem," Brittany said. "Rachel said you weren't feeling good, and you totally look it. And I don't want to go to class."

"Thanks, B," Quinn mumbled crossly, even though she could hardly ever really find it in herself to get upset with Brittany.

"I'll see you at home," Rachel said. She handed Quinn her backpack. "Sleep, okay?"

"Yes ma'am," Quinn said. She made a face at Rachel, who only smiled good-naturedly and waved, watching as Quinn followed Brittany out of the room.

Quinn was silent on the drive to the Berry's house, listening to Brittany talk cheerfully about glee Regionals and the national competition for the Cheerios that was coming up. The other blonde eventually fell silent when she seemed to realize that Quinn wasn't listening; she only spoke when they got to the house and she took Quinn's bag from her.

"Do you need anything?" she asked once Quinn was sitting on her bed in her pajamas.

"No," Quinn said softly. She forced a smile for her friend. "Thanks for getting me home, B."

"Anytime," Brittany said. She half-skipped around the room, tugging the blinds shut and fluffing Quinn's pillow and making sure the alarm was turned off on her iPod dock. "Now go to sleep. Rachel will kill me if you're awake when she gets here."

"She'd just lecture you," Quinn said sleepily. She pulled the blanket up over her legs; her hands hovered hesitantly over her stomach for a moment—since the miscarriage, it was quickly returning to the flat plane it had been before she had gotten pregnant, and the tank top she had unthinkingly slipped into clung to her body snugly—before she forced herself to pull the blanket up the rest of the way and lay down.

"S would say that it's the same thing," Brittany said. She shrugged, still smiling, and flipped the light switch. "Call us if you need anything."

"Okay," Quinn whispered. She watched as Brittany shut the door, and finally let herself succumb to her exhaustion. Eyes sliding shut in the welcome darkness and Vienna Teng wafting from the speakers on her laptop, Quinn drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

When she woke three hours later, trembling from something between a dream and a nightmare of a picnic in the park with Sarah Noelle Puckerman and Rachel Berry that was interrupted by an ominous preacher and congregation staring them down, Rachel was sitting next to her in the bed with sympathetic eyes. She brushed Quinn's hair back from her forehead and rubbed soft circles into her back until the blonde fell back into a calmer sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Three days of awkward normalcy passed. Rachel, true to her word, remained silent and patient about her progression of emotion. Through the regular motions of classes and glee rehearsals and family dinners, Quinn did a marvelous job of burying her emotions when around everyone else. Rachel watched her protectively from the periphery, a subtle anxiousness rolling in her eyes whenever they met Quinn's, and she was once again there every night when Quinn fell asleep, and every possible minute at school when someone was whispering behind their hand or pointing rudely at Quinn's flattening stomach.

By the time Friday evening rolled around, Quinn no longer had dark circles under her eyes that she had to cover with make-up. The comforting knowledge of Rachel's presence beside her while she slept outweighed the rollicking confusion that had taken up residence in Quinn's head, and by the end of the week, she wasn't attracting as many poorly-veiled glances of worry from the rest of the glee club or her teachers.

"Mike's having a party," Rachel said. Her voice startled Quinn, who was sitting at her desk, once more flipping through college admissions requirements.

"Well, it is a Friday night," she responded quietly. Despite Rachel sleeping next to her every night and soothing away her nightmares, and despite the vast amount of time they spent together, they had had very little one-on-one conversation since Rachel convinced Quinn to go home Tuesday morning.

Rachel leaned back against the doorjamb, her hands linked behind her back. "Brittany and Santana are going. And Puck. Even Kurt and Mercedes."

"You should go," Quinn said, picking up easily on the antsy set to Rachel's shoulders. The brunette clearly wanted to go out.

"We should go," Rachel said.

"We?"

"Quinn, when was the last time you went to a party?" Rachel challenged. "When was the last time you just acted like a teenager?"

Quinn remained silent. She knew exactly when the last time was that she went to a party, because the next day she'd been hungover and steeped in sin and it hurt to walk, and a week later she'd been officially pregnant. She may have been healing, and she may no longer spend every moment thinking about her miscarried daughter, but she was hardly prepared to talk about it casually.

"Come on," Rachel said imploringly. "It'll be fun. Our friends are going to be there. It'll be good for you to just have some fun for a night."

Quinn stayed quiet. Her fingers tapped nervously on top of the stack of papers from Georgetown on her desk, unconsciously matching the beat to the soft music.

"Quinn," Rachel said eventually. "Please?"

"You don't need me to come with you to a party," Quinn said, her voice quiet. "Like you said, they're our friends. Your friends as much as mine." She quirked an eyebrow at Rachel. "Go have fun with them."

"I'd prefer that you come," Rachel said. "As much for your sake as mine."

"I'm fine, Rach," Quinn said. "I just don't feel like going out right now."

"Oh, come on," Rachel shot back. "You're a social girl and we both know it. I know that a lot has changed in the last year, but that hasn't. Don't tell me that you wouldn't have fun at a party with your friends. Your brochures will still be right there tomorrow morning and you can obsess over them all weekend."

"I'm not obsessing," Quinn mumbled. The delicate flush in her cheeks belayed her halfhearted protest.

"Right," Rachel said. She smiled brightly at Quinn. "Then will you go as a favor to me?" Wide brown eyes stared unblinkingly at Quinn. Quinn stared stubbornly back at her for a full ten seconds, chin set, before she let out an exasperated sigh and threw her hands up dramatically.

"Fine!" she said. "I'll be your chaperone."

Rachel let out a small, excited squeal and jumped away from the doorway, clapping her hands girlishly. "Great!" she said exuberantly. "I'm going to go change. Do you want to drive, or should I?"

"I'll drive," Quinn said, trying to hold back an indulgent smile at Rachel's excitement. She pushed herself out of her chair, stretching luxuriously. "Give me a few minutes."

Rachel all but skipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Quinn stood awkwardly next to her desk for a long moment, a moment of hesitance edging at her thoughts. She was suddenly unsure if she even remembered how to handle a casual social situation like a house party. It had been months since she had been in such a position, and the last time had left her pregnant and turned her entire life upside down.

Shaking such thoughts away, Quinn busied herself with changing out of the sweatpants and t-shirt she was wearing. Where a year ago she would have taken advantage of a party away from the possibility of Coach Sylvester's supervision and dressed up in one of the dresses or skirts she never could wear under Cheerio's rules, Quinn found herself instead reaching for her favorite jeans and a simple tank top. Grabbing a light jacket and running a brush through her curls, she shut the lid on her laptop and made her way across the hallway to knock on Rachel's door.

"Come on, RuPaul," she said lightheartedly. "Let's do this before I change my mind."

"Coming!" Rachel called through the door. Quinn jumped back when the door was flung open, and Rachel stepped breathlessly out into the hallway. One of Quinn's eyebrows rose of its own accord as she unintentionally looked Rachel up and down, taking in the loose waves of her dark hair, the floaty skirt of her bright blue dress, the height advantage the heels she was wearing gave her.

"Are you alright?" Rachel asked, brow slightly furrowed.

"What?" Quinn flushed slightly. "Yeah, I'm okay. You good to go?" She mentally berated herself. As unused as she may be to this growing attraction she had to Rachel, she was still annoyed with herself for not keeping her wandering thoughts in check.

They arrived at Mike's house to find the party already in full swing. Finn, Artie, and Matt and a handful of other football players were on the back patio, engaged in a raucous game of beer pong. Kurt and Mercedes had somehow won over a small group of the Cheerios, and the cheerleaders were gathered around Kurt, shooting question after question at him about skin care products; he sat delicately on Mercedes' leg and was gesturing emphatically, practically spilling his drink often. Brittany and Santana were unsurprisingly together, Santana's hand resting mostly-hidden on Brittany's lower back and her thumb skimming lightly back and forth while Brittany animatedly cheered on Finn and Artie and Matt in beer pong.

Quinn, after convincing Rachel that she would be fine alone, watched as the brunette accepted an unopened beer from Mike and then joined Brittany and Santana in watching the beer pong game. She stared at the back of Rachel's head for a long few seconds, and then helped herself to a beer and made her way back into the living room, where she joined Kurt and Mercedes.

As time passed, Quinn felt herself slowly relaxing. She let herself sink into the conversation about skin care products, which shifted into hair products and then over to celebrity gossip. Quinn's second beer had long since gone lukewarm and forgotten in her hand when the Cheerios were lured away by the promise of jello shots by some of the more charismatic football players, and she had abandoned it entirely when Mercedes' phone vibrated and she moved outside to take the call. Only Kurt and Quinn remained on the couch, and Quinn found herself under the piercing-even-when-drunk stare of Kurt Hummel.

"So," he said delicately, tossing his head in the direction of where Rachel still stood with Brittany and Santana, cheering animatedly as Artie tossed a ping pong ball across the table. "Let's hear it."

"Pardon?" Quinn said, feeling a small flash of her old confidence with the single word and raised eyebrow.

"Oh, please," he said. He leaned closer, resting his arm on the back of the couch and his temple against his fist. "Don't think that I haven't noticed a subtle shift in the electricity between you and our pocket-sized diva, or that it happened conveniently after I told her to grow a spine and make a move."

Quinn blushed in spite of herself, looking down at the fraying hole in the knee of her jeans. Kurt read deep into her silence and made an unintelligible but delighted sound, clapping his hands briefly. "Oh, she did! Terrific! Now, tell me what's going on."

"Nothing's going on," Quinn said defensively, more automatically than intentionally.

Kurt shot her a sharp look, and she blushed deeper. "Really," she said, her voice soft enough that he had to lean forward to hear it under the music. "I… she's giving me some time," she said eventually. "To figure out what I want."

"Girl, please," Kurt said. He flapped one hand dismissively. "You may not see it, but it is so what you want. Do you think I can't see the way you look at her every thirty seconds?"

"I do not!"

Kurt snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, right."

"Honestly," Quinn said gently. "I don't know what I want."

"I think you do," Kurt said. He locked his eyes on Quinn's, holding her gaze. "You're just distracted by what you think you _should_ want."

Quinn remained silent, staring at him thoughtfully. "Do you… do you think it would be okay?"

It was an awkward question, and came out poorly. Her concern was primarily with her own emotional fragility and the potential for disaster it spelled for anyone she may be involved with, rather than with thoughts of propriety and permission. The only thing she had come to terms with since Rachel kissed her was the fact that some people would never approve, but that such approval was unnecessary. Her fear of her father's inevitably enraged reaction took a distant second to her fear that she was doomed to another monumental failure in romance, and whoever was stuck by her side would be dragged down right with her.

Thankfully, Kurt seemed to understand her meaning regardless. Her gaze shifted unintentionally to the sliding glass door and Rachel's blue dress; his followed.

"Whoever knows what will or won't work?" he asked after a long pause. "But that isn't what you should ask yourself."

"Then what should I, Dr. Phil?"

He shifted on the couch, staring at her even more intently than normal. "How does she make you feel?"

Quinn tore her eyes away from his, biting her lip and looking back outside; Rachel, in a lull in the game, was talking cheerfully with Artie, who looked surprised to be enjoying their interaction. "She kissed me," Quinn said eventually. "And it made everything else in my mind disappear. Everything about my parents and the baby and Finn and Puck just… went away, and things were quiet in my head."

Kurt's hand appeared on hers, soft and delicate, and she looked back up at him. Her chest ached, but not in the painful way it had every time she thought of the mistakes and misfortunes of the last year; rather, it felt like it had when she first started dating Finn, and the night Puck watched her with sad eyes and told her she was beautiful.

"There's your answer," Kurt said, his voice quiet under the music and entirely devoid of its usual cutting edges.

"What if I screw this up, too?" Quinn mumbled, barely audible and entirely unintentional. She froze momentarily, instinct making her tense and wish violently to recall the words, but Kurt patted her hand in an almost maternal manner and she felt a tiny amount of tension leave her shoulders. She took a slow breath, forcing her eyes up to meet his. "I'm not in a good place right now. And it's just… everything I'm not supposed to do."

Kurt shrugged his narrow shoulders slowly. His eyes were wide and bright, piercing into Quinn's almost painfully. "I guess you have to decide what's more important to you. What you think you're supposed to do, or how you think things _might_ go wrong, or how it felt when she kissed you."

Mercedes suddenly reappeared behind Kurt, practically bubbling with excitement as she yanked Kurt up by the elbow and thrust her phone in his hands. Words rushed out of her mouth too quickly for Quinn to understand—it was like when Rachel was talking after taking the pills Mrs. Scheuster gave them, but even more unintelligible. But when Kurt's eyes lit up and his jaw dropped and he started babbling about necklines and chiffon, Quinn held back a small laugh before slipping away from the two of them. There would be no pulling Kurt away from the fashion blogs for at least another hour; even so, he had given her plenty to consider anyways.

In the kitchen, Quinn tossed out her mostly-full beer and poured herself a glass of water from the sink. Through the window, she could see Rachel still talking to Artie, who was demonstrating something that had to be about guitars. Rachel was clutching a beer bottle in her hands loosely, her eyes locked on Artie's hands intently as he demonstrated chord shapes and strumming patterns.

"You shouldn't stare, Q."

Santana's voice, and the sudden appearance of her reflection in the window Quinn was staring out of, made the blonde jump. Water splashed over the rim of her glass, a few drops falling onto the denim of her jeans.

"Jesus, Santana," Quinn mumbled. "Give me a heart attack, why don't you?"

Santana smirked and crossed her arms; she leaned against the refrigerator and looked Quinn up and down appraisingly. Quinn couldn't remember the last time she saw Santana not dressed in a costume for glee or a cheerleading uniform; her dark hair was loose from its usual ponytail, and she looked surprisingly casual for a Friday night party in jeans and a t-shirt.

Quinn flushed slightly under Santana's scrutiny, and took a slow sip of water to cover it.

"You've been working out." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Quinn said defensively. "Is that a crime?"

"Hardly," Santana said. She exaggeratedly shrugged her shoulders. "Just commenting. It hasn't even been a month." With a small smirk, she added, "Then again, you always were the exercise nut out of all of us. You were probably doing yogalates every morning when you were pregnant." She paused again, her smirk fading and a solemn look—vastly different from her typical glare—replacing it as she stared at Quinn for a long few seconds.

"Get yourself together, Q," Santana said simply. "No one expects you to miraculously be fine and dandy about what happened to you. But that doesn't mean that you shouldn't take advantage of something that can help you be okay."

"What?" Quinn said dumbly.

Santana heaved a frustrated sigh. "Berry," she said. "Rachel freaking Berry. Anyone with half a brain can see that she… I don't know, calms you down or helps you meditate or what_ever_ it is that you need to do to sleep at night." Sharp eyes, far more intelligent than most people ever knew, locked onto and held Quinn's; the blonde felt a sudden rush of warmth in her chest and remembered why on earth she was actually friends with Santana Lopez in the first place. Harsh though she may be, the other girl was brutally honest when no one else had the nerve to be, and sometimes Quinn needed that more than anything else.

"I don't like her," Santana continued, unaware of Quinn's momentary epiphany. "But she could do what B and I couldn't, and she's still doing it, so stop dancing around whatever it is you're dancing around and just grow a pair."

Quinn stared at her friend, nothing short of dumbfounded. A part of her knew that Santana had always been disturbingly perceptive, but she hadn't thought that both Kurt and Santana would corner her and push her towards something she was only just coming to realize that she actually wanted.

Long seconds stretched out between them before Quinn spoke. "I'm scared," she mumbled. Her hands felt weak, and she set her water glass on the counter behind her to avoid dropping it. "I don't want to mess anything else up."

"Quinn," Santana said sharply. "That girl is entirely aware of your baggage and your bullshit. She knows exactly what you're capable of, and how much of a brat you can be when you want to be, and she still gave you a bedroom and took care of you after you left the hospital and threatens to tar and feather every single person who tries to talk about you behind your back in school now. She's a pain in the ass and occasionally as obtuse as a blind elephant in a China shop, but she's decided that she cares enough to _not_ care what she's getting into."

Her eyes softened, and she stepped across the small kitchen to stand in front of Quinn. "You won't let us help," she said quietly. The ever-present edge to her voice was completely absent, and Quinn could recall not a single time when Santana had looked at anyone but Brittany in so soft a manner. "Me and B, we've been your friends since grade school, but we can't put you back together. The only person who held you together even a little bit was that _damn_ annoying little diva, and if that's what you need to deal, then that's what you need. She's got it, she's offering it, so have the balls to admit that you need her help and just _take _it."

With a minute, understated smile, Santana nodded once and stepped back from Quinn. The blonde stared at her, the words from her impromptu speech rolling around inside her head, before murmuring a barely-audible thanks. Santana nodded once more, her armor back in place, and made her way out of the kitchen; Quinn noticed a flash of blonde around the corner and realized the Brittany had been standing there for the entire conversation.

Quinn wasn't sure how much time had passed before she finally moved out of the kitchen; Mercedes and Kurt were gone, as were most of the Cheerios and half of the football players. Artie and Finn were still on the back porch talking, Finn's shoulders slumping and his head lolling slightly to the side like it always did when he was drunk. Just as Quinn was about to go in search of Rachel—a glance at her watch told her it was well past midnight, and she was ready to lay down and just _sleep_—the brunette appeared beside her with a quiet hiccup and a drunken smile.

"Hi," she whispered loudly. "Where were you all night?"

"Around," Quinn whispered back. She watched with alarm as Rachel swayed slightly on her heels, and reached out unthinkingly to wrap her right arm around her waist for support. She dug her left hand into the pocket of her jeans, locating her car keys. "Let's go home."

"Okay," Rachel said. She yawned and shook her hair back; her left arm drifted up, wrapping over her stomach, her hand coming to rest on Quinn's wrist where it was tucked around the curve of her hip.

The drive home was quiet, Rachel uncharacteristically silent. Quinn pulled the car into the driveway and stepped out, moving around to help Rachel into the house and up the stairs. In Rachel's room, the brunette plopped down on her bed, yawning again and brushing her hair back out of her face.

Quinn took a deep breath, sitting down next to Rachel. Hands folded in her lap, she locked her eyes on her intertwined fingers. "How drunk are you?"

Rachel shrugged languidly, leaning down to unstrap her shoes. "Impaired enough that I couldn't drive, but I can still recite my multiplication tables."

Quinn laughed softly, shaking her head. "Only you would be that rational drunk."

"Alcohol has differing effects on everyone," Rachel recited.

"That it does," Quinn said. She took another deep breath, her smile fading. "Are you too drunk to talk?"

"That depends," Rachel said. She tossed her shoes over by the closet, making a face when they landed in a messy heap. "Talk about what?"

"About…" Quinn hesitated. "About us."

Rachel was silent for a long few seconds. Quinn snuck a glance over at her, and was unsurprised to see honest consideration in Rachel's eyes.

"No," Rachel said finally. "I'm not that drunk."

Quinn nodded nervously. Her palms were sweating, her fingers tightening around one another. "I… I've been thinking. A lot."

"I've noticed," Rachel said. "I've tried not to crowd you."

"You haven't," Quinn said quickly. "I just… there's a lot in my head right now, you know? Everything's different from how it used to be, and I don't really know how to process it all. I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I'm sixteen years old and I lost a child I wanted to keep and raise and love. And before that I was just getting used to the idea that I wouldn't ever get to be a part of my family again, but even that's changed again, even if my dad is still really angry at me." She paused, taking a slow breath. "And I can't wrap my head around the fact that I can only sleep when you're there, or that I might be attracted to you—or any girl—at all, or that every time I even consider that possibility, I feel like my father is yelling in my head that I'll go to hell."

She chanced a look up at Rachel, and felt a painful twist in her chest at the sight of tears starting to build in Rachel's eyes; the brunette kept her chin up and shoulders straight regardless, and Quinn's chest tightened even more.

"But," she rushed on. "When you kissed me, that… all of that went away. It shut everything in my head up, even if it was just for a few seconds. It was quiet in my head for the first time in months." She smiled slightly, fighting back the prick of tears in her own eyes. "And that means something major, I think."

"Really?" Rachel breathed out. She looked unashamedly hopeful, biting down on her lower lip in anticipation.

"Yeah," Quinn said. "I want you to know that I—" She faltered momentarily, but forged ahead anyways. "I think I want to give this a real shot. I really think it means something that you're the only thing that keeps me from feeling like I'm drowning."

"Really?" Rachel said again. She was all but beaming, her own hands clenched tightly in her lap.

"Yeah," Quinn repeated. She paused. "It's just a big adjustment, you know? And I've had so many big adjustments recently and I'm still not used to most of them, and this is really major and really scary and –-"

She was cut off by Rachel surging forward, one hand on Quinn's cheek and lips pressing against hers almost desperately. Quinn's eyes flew open wide, and then fluttered shut; she untangled her fingers and her hands reached out tentatively to come to rest at the base of Rachel's neck. Rachel's fingers slid through her hair, her other hand sliding along Quinn's jaw.

Quinn relished the loss of coherent thought in her head, falling into the lack of everything but sensation and finite feeling, all thoughts of family and God and religion and miscarried children and sin banished from her mind by the feel of Rachel's lips moving against her, Rachel's fingers tangled in her hair, the warmth of Rachel's body beside hers.

When she finally pulled back, Quinn was breathless; she let her forehead fall to rest on Rachel's shoulder, breathing deeply. She felt Rachel's arm slide around her back, one hand tracing up and down her back while the other fumbled blindly for a moment until it found Quinn's.

"It's really late," Quinn mumbled after a long minute of resting against Rachel's shoulder. She stifled a yawn, her entire body shaking with the effort. She sat up sleepily. "Can we sleep?"

"Yeah," Rachel said softly. With another quietly brilliant smile, she stood slowly and leaned down to kiss Quinn once more. "Sleep is probably a good idea."

Quinn nodded tiredly. She pushed herself back on Rachel's bed, kicking her shoes off and letting herself fall down to the pillows. She drifted towards sleep to the sound of Rachel moving around the room and changing, then into the bathroom to was her face; Quinn smirked at the comforting knowledge that even drunk and practically walking on a cloud, Rachel would never shifts her routine for anything short of an impending tsunami. She was almost completely asleep when she felt the smaller girl slip under the blankets beside her, an arm automatically going around her waist and warm breath brushing against the skin of her upper back.

"This isn't a dream, is it?" Rachel mumbled just before Quinn fell the rest of the way into sleep. Quinn rolled over, barely opening her eyes, and pressed a brief kiss to Rachel's lips.

"Not a dream," she said grumbled sleepily. She let her head fall down to rest on Rachel's chest, settling down comfortably. "Now go to sleep, man-hands." She knew that the next day would invariably hold detailed conversations with Rachel to determine the actual status of their relationship and whatever boundaries or caveats may need apply—the brunette probably had nothing short of a legal contract lurking somewhere in the depths of her horribly organized books full of sheet music—but she let such thoughts drift away, and fell slowly to sleep with barely audible rhythm of Rachel's heartbeat.


	19. Chapter 19

Quinn woke up to Rachel's arm heavy across her stomach and a gummy feeling in her mouth from not brushing her teeth before going to sleep. She snapped into consciousness suddenly, bypassing the slow and groggy process she normally went through between being roused from sleep and being a functional human being; she was unable to place what it was that had woken her, but she remained hyperaware of the weight of Rachel's arm over her body, the sound of Rachel's breaths, even the soft ticking of Rachel's ugly clock. She lay there for a full ten minutes, unmoving out of a fear of waking a probably-hungover Rachel, before restlessness and an overpowering need to _move_ prompted her to ease her way out of the bed. Without even thinking about it, she tugged the blanket up over Rachel's shoulders.

Rachel, active even in her sleep, mumbled something incoherent and rolled over so suddenly it startled Quinn. She kicked the covers off and curled up in the center of the bed, dark hair spread in a disastrous tangle over her shoulders; her knees came towards her chest, her hands tucking under her chin, and Quinn watched with amusement and half of an expectation that Rachel would start sucking on her thumb. She stared at Rachel, who remained blissfully asleep and curled up into the fetal position, for a long while before the jittery feeling in her limbs prompted her to slip out of the room and down the hall to her own.

Half an hour of yoga in the small spot of empty floor in her bedroom did nothing to calm her; Quinn gave in to her energy and padded down the stairs quietly, heading out into the early morning light carrying her iPod and running shoes. She laced up her shoes and stretched carefully, pausing briefly at the lingering ache in her abdomen before she started down the sidewalk at a brisk pace.

As she made her way along her usual route, her feet carrying her along the familiar streets, her thoughts stayed back at the Berry household, with a brunette curled into the fetal position and the conversation they'd had the night before. She had been painfully honest in everything she said to Rachel; she honestly did think that she was ready to give whatever had risen between them a try. Her discomfort at the possible complications—the judgment of others, the constantly close proximity of herself and Rachel, the vast amount of emotional baggage she was lugging around with her sore stomach and the risk for disaster that came along with it—was, as Kurt had so aptly acknowledged, distant second priority to the fact that every time Rachel had kissed her, Quinn had experienced the closest thing to comfort in her own skin since the miscarriage. Though she had all but sworn off romance after the multiply-compounded fiasco with Finn and Puck, it would be pointless to deny what Santana had laid out for her the night before: so far, the only thing that had helped hold her together had been Rachel, and Quinn would be an idiot not to acknowledge that.

Disjointed thoughts churned through her head, matching pace with her feet as she looped around the perimeter of the park and passed the swingset that marked the end of the second mile. Though she was still far from capable of the six and eight mile runs she used to take when she just wanted to be _away_ from everything in her life, she was working her way back up to them. She would never be a marathon runner, but the hundreds of military-grade workouts Coach Sylvester had subjected them to had kept Quinn in excellent athletic shape, and her own stubbornness had kept her as close as possible to that level throughout her pregnancy. Rachel had complained mightily—though good-naturedly—when Quinn had all but claimed exclusive rights to the brunette's elliptical every night with her headphones and study guides.

Her thoughts once more looped back to the brunette she'd left still asleep, and Quinn's attempts to focus on her steps and carrying a long, even running stride broke; she stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk and barely caught herself before she careened into a bench. Thoughts of Rachel vanished from her head as a curse slipped between her teeth at her clumsiness, and she let herself collapse listlessly onto the same bench she'd almost run into. Her breath came out in crystallized puffs, the Ohio spring still frosty in the mornings.

She lasted through two songs playing on her iPod before the jittery feeling returned, seeping back into her limbs in tandem with thoughts of Rachel creeping back into her mind. With a frustrated sigh, she pushed herself back up off the bench and started off back towards the Berry's house. It would be useless to try and deny that the anxious feeling driving her to exercise was caused by anything but nerves about the conversation she would inevitably be having with Rachel. The obstinacy that so often defined Quinn prodded her to, as Santana had so eloquently said, grow some balls and just talk to Rachel about it.

Her determination carried her all the way back to the house, fatigue from her run not even registering in her mind, through the stretching routine that was all but habitual, and up the stairs to the door to Rachel's room; it faltered only when she raised a hand to knock and irrational fear locked around her stomach. She stood frozen, hand still raised to knock, and was a split second from sprinting down the hall to hide in her own room when the door opened anyways, a sleepy Rachel jerking to a halt at the sight of Quinn still standing there with one fist in the air.

"Hi," Quinn said awkwardly, whipping her hand down to hide behind her back shyly. A flush that had nothing to do with the four miles she'd just run swept across her cheeks and the back of her neck, and she wished suddenly that she'd given herself a chance to clean up and shower before this; serious, heartfelt conversations should hardly be sullied by the sweat and stink that accompanied exercise.

"Good morning," Rachel said. Her voice was husky with sleep, but her tone forever cordial. She fidgeted for a long few moments, visibly uncomfortable, before clearing her throat and stepping back. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yeah," Quinn mumbled. She slipped past Rachel, automatically pulling the Velcro around her upper arm loose and wrapping her headphones around her iPod. Rachel closed the door behind her and stood awkwardly where she was for a long moment, before taking an audibly deep breath and seating herself on the edge of her already-made bed. Quinn remained standing, tracing her fingers up and down one of the handles on Rachel's elliptical without thinking.

"One of us should probably say something," Rachel said eventually. "I realize that there is plenty for us to talk about and to consider, and that I should most likely be the one to initiate the conversation as I was the one who initiated this entire situation in the first place." She rose from her seat, fingers twined together, and started to pace up and down the small space in her room; Quinn remained motionless and eternally thankful (for once) that Rachel could talk uninterrupted for hours.

"I understand that you may be confused about all of this," Rachel went on. "And I respect that it is yet another significant change to your life and your way of thinking, and perhaps a challenge to your view of the world, given your childhood and your upbringing and everything you've gone through in the past months. If you want time to organize your thoughts or consult your friends or just want space, I absolutely understand." She faltered in her speech, and Quinn—still standing silent by the elliptical, her own confusion forgotten in the face of Rachel's anxiety—could see immediately that the last thing Rachel wanted to hear was that Quinn needed time or space.

"Rachel," Quinn said, cutting off Rachel before she started rambling again. "Breathe." She moved away from the elliptical, tossing her iPod onto Rachel's bed and taking a seat at the foot. She patted the spot next to her, motioning for Rachel to take a seat.

The brunette did as she was bidden, perching delicately with her knees crossed and hands folded atop them as she looked at Quinn with what Quinn was certain was meant to be expectancy, but in actuality came across as nervousness. Quinn stared at Rachel for a long few seconds, unnerved by how uncomfortable it didn't actually feel, before speaking.

"What do you want out of all of this?" she said finally.

"What do you mean?"

Quinn took a deep breath. "You kissed me," she said. "You said you could give me time to think about what _I_ want, but you never said what _you're _looking for."

"Oh," Rachel said softly. Her eyes drifted down towards her hands, her shoulders slumping the tiniest bit. "I don't really know," she admitted. "I don't know that I ever thought that far ahead."

"_You_ didn't think ahead?" Quinn said teasingly. "Rachel, you have a corkboard in your closet planning out your life until the age of 36."

"I know!" Rachel said. She groaned in frustration, pushing her hands through her hair and leaping back to her feet to resume her pacing. "I normally know exactly what I want out of things, but not here. I didn't expect that we would become friends, nor that we would be become close, and certainly not that I would have _Kurt Hummel_ telling me in the hallway that I needed to come to terms with the fact that I'd developed romantic feelings for you. I thought that I wanted Finn, for goodness' sake; at least that made sense." She cut herself off suddenly, teeth clacking shut audibly, and stopped her pacing to face Quinn; the blonde watched her with level eyes that did little to betray her own uncertainty.

"You weren't a part of my plan," Rachel said softly. "Everything got turned upside down."

"It wasn't really part of my plan, either," Quinn said. "Any of this, any of the last year."

"I know," Rachel said. She bit her lip, fiddling absently with the Star of David on her necklace. "I think that I want… I think that I want to know what you're okay with, and what you need, and then as things progress I'll figure out what exactly it is that I'm looking for."

"Well, that hardly seems fair," Quinn said snippily, her innate sarcasm pushing to the forefront in an unintentional attempt at levity. "Why do I have to know what I want if you don't?"

"Because," Rachel said, brown eyes far too serious to be swayed by Quinn's sarcasm. "You're holding all the cards."

Quinn felt her chest pinch at Rachel's words, the earnest look on the other girl's face piercing straight into her. "Oh," she said weakly, after a long pause. This conversation was going in an entirely opposite direction than she had expected. She had anticipated Rachel having their entire situation sorted out in her head, from the agenda for their first date to how they would handle it if Quinn's parents found out to how they could break the news to the glee club without Finn punching something or Puck being hurt or Matt and Mike going comatose; that Rachel was as lost in this as Quinn was anything but comforting. She had been counting on Rachel to guide her through the mess of emotions and thoughts she was caught in, and to find out that Rachel was expecting the same of her hit like a suckerpunch to the windpipe.

"I'm scared," she blurted out. The words escaped her lips before they'd even really crossed her mind, hovering in the air between them heavily. Rachel watched Quinn with appraising eyes, seeming to consider the blonde's exclamation, before she returned to sit crosslegged on the foot of the bed, facing Quinn.

"Of what?" she asked.

Quinn took a deep breath, mentally cataloguing her list of fears and concerns. She slumped back on the bed, falling back across Rachel's comforter with one forearm resting over her eyes. Hidden beneath the darkness of her own arm, her anxiety seemed to shrink into the background, and she slowly began to speak.

"I'm a mess," she started carefully. "I know that I keep saying that I'm not broken, and you keep insisting that I am. I don't know if I'm as broken as people think, or even how broken you think I am, but I do know that I still have nightmares and still get depressed and still want to cry at random times, and I don't know when that's going to change. Sometimes I feel like someone cracked my chest open and sucked everything inside of me out with a vacuum and it hurts and I don't know how to handle that."

She paused, her throat welling painfully as horribly familiar daydreams of Sarah Noelle Puckerman flashed into the darkness of her eyelids. "I know that the last relationship I tried was an unmitigated disaster, and that the closest thing to a relationship I've had since then was with Puck, and that came apart because of me, too. I know that I screwed things up with both of them even before the—" Her voice hitched, and she felt the feather-light weight of Rachel's familiar hand atop hers.

"Before the hospital," she forged on. Her fingers twitched unintentionally, sliding between Rachel's. "And now that I'm a mess from all that, I'm scared that anyone who gets too close will get dragged down with me and it'll all end horribly." She paused again; Rachel's fingers tightened around hers and she took a slow breath. "I know that I don't want to hurt anyone like that, or like I hurt Finn or Puck or my family, ever again. And I really don't want to hurt you like that, because you've been incredible to me and you've helped me so much and you're really a better person than I ever was and someone like you shouldn't be hurt any more by someone like me."

Quinn finally moved her arm from over her eyes, squinting in the light and chancing a look at Rachel. The other girl was staring thoughtfully down at their joined hands, eyes unfocused. Quinn watched her for a long minute, finally daring to move as she propped herself up on her elbows, breaking the connection between their hands and Rachel's intense concentration.

"I also know," she said quietly, once Rachel had raised her eyes to finally meet Quinn's. "That every time you kiss me, things feel—_okay _again. Or like they can be okay again. Because I know they aren't yet, and I know I'm not yet, but when you kissed me I felt for the first time like I wasn't always going to be this messed up." She cocked one eyebrow, ignoring the flush the felt spreading across her cheeks. "I'm terrified that I'll hurt you like I hurt everyone else, but I'm almost more scared that you're the only one who can put me back together from where I am now."

"You don't need me," Rachel said forcefully, the strength in her soft words catching Quinn off guard. "You're far stronger than you give yourself credit for, Quinn. You don't need me." She locked her eyes on Quinn's, staring the blonde down until she could do nothing but nod meekly and swallow any protests she felt like voicing. Rachel's gaze softened, and she shifted to sit next to where Quinn lay propped on her elbows.

"And you don't need to protect me," she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "You're not the jinx that you think you are, but even if you were, I would know what I was getting myself into. I've known what you're capable of for years, Quinn, and it doesn't scare me."

"So where does that leave us?" Quinn half-whispered.

"I don't know," Rachel admitted. "All I know right now is that I want to kiss you again." She flushed darkly as soon as she'd spoken, and Quinn felt a blush of her own spreading across her face once more. Neither of them spoke, Quinn biting down on her lip and focusing her eyes on a spot on the wall behind Rachel's head as she struggled to formulate what could pass as an appropriate response.

She was saved the trouble when Rachel suddenly leaned forward and kissed her. Quinn responded immediately and without even meaning to, her eyes slipping shut and chin tilting up to accommodate the kiss. Her focus narrowed to the feel of Rachel's lips against hers, Rachel's fingers skimming along her jaw and up into blonde hair that was still sweaty from her run. Sometime after she blindly noted that Rachel's other hand had found a tight grip on her hip, Quinn's arms—tired from her propping herself up for so long—started to tremble, and she unthinkingly shifted, falling down onto her back and letting her hands wrap around Rachel's neck to pull her along.

By the time they parted, Quinn was bordering on breathless and fairly certain that she may have squashed her iPod, given how it was digging into her shoulder blade. Rachel's head fell to rest against Quinn's neck, her breathing as labored as Quinn's. Quinn finally let her eyes flutter open, taking in the bright white of Rachel's ceiling, slats of light patterning across where early morning sunlight leaked through the blinds.

"So," Quinn said eventually, after her breathing her returned to normal. "Did we actually figure anything out?"

Rachel mumbled something intelligible, her words muffled against the skin of Quinn's neck.

"I have no idea what you just said, man hands," Quinn snarked, wiggling her shoulder playfully. She giggled when Rachel swatted at her blindly, a noise of indignation rising from the brunette; Quinn pinched her, and it quickly escalated into an all-out tickle war that ended only when Rachel, with a surprised squeak, tried to twist away from Quinn and rolled right to the floor with a loud thump.

"Ow," Rachel muttered indignantly. Quinn peered over the edge of the bed, biting down on her lip to hide her amusement.

"You okay?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Perfectly fine," Rachel said, indignation giving way to her own amusement as she hopped to her feet. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she grimaced and grabbed for the hairbrush sitting on her bedside table. "You turned my hair into a bird's nest," she complained.

"I did not!" Quinn shot back. She pushed herself to her feet, unconsciously checking her own hair in the mirror. It remained in its ponytail, still sweaty from her run but nowhere near as wild and tangled as Rachel's. "It looked like that when I walked in here. You have crazy bed-head."

"Everybody has bed-head, Quinn," Rachel said with a long-suffering sigh. "But this is not bed-head. This is I-just-made-out-with-Quinn-Fabray-head."

Quinn grimaced. "Did you seriously have to use my full name?"

"It added some necessary weight to the claim, I think," Rachel said distractedly, not taking her eyes from her hair in the mirror as she worked the hairbrush through a tangle.

"Of course it did," Quinn muttered. She rolled her eyes. "I'm going to go take a shower."

"Hey!" Rachel said. "Why do you get the shower first?"

"Because I got up first?"

"It's not my fault you felt the need to go running at sunrise. Besides, you got the shower first yesterday."

"Rachel, seriously, I'm gross," Quinn complained. "I ran like five miles this morning _and_ did yoga _and_ got molested. I really need a shower."

"Molested?" Rachel stared at Quinn in the mirror with raised eyebrows.

"Something like that," Quinn mumbled. Rachel set the hairbrush down, spinning around to stand toe-to-toe with Quinn. Quinn flushed under Rachel's intense stare, and wondered if she had actually offended the brunette with her turn of phrase.

"Molested," Rachel muttered. She shook her head, a dark look in her eyes, before smiling brightly and bouncing up on her toes to kiss Quinn on the cheek. "You only wish."

"Yeah, right," Quinn responded automatically. "And anyways, that's not the point. I'm going to go shower—"

She was cut off by Rachel reaching up and pulling her down for a heavy kiss. Coherent thought flew out of Quinn's head in an instant, and her iPod slipped from her fingers as her hands dropped to Rachel's hips. She fell into the weight of Rachel's arms around her neck, the material of Rachel's t-shirt bunching in her fingers, and could do little to hold back the soft whimper that escaped her lips when Rachel suddenly broke away and danced out of Quinn's reach. The brunette grabbed the towel hanging from the hook on her bedroom door, stuck out her tongue at Quinn, and all but sprinted out the door to the bathroom.

Quinn stood dumbstruck in the middle of Rachel's room, staring stupidly at the open door. She finally uprooted her feet and stalked to the bathroom door. "That's totally cheating!" She called through the closed door, glaring as if Rachel could see her, before making her way downstairs and towards the smell of coffee.


	20. Chapter 20

After finally getting a shower of her own, Quinn went to the public library while Rachel went with shopping with her parents for a birthday gift for her grandfather. She found herself too distracted to study effectively, however, and spent two hours doodling in between the lines of the English paper she was supposedly editing and wondering exactly how proactive Rachel was going to be in announcing the turn in their relationship to the world. She imagined that the brunette had already leaked it to her fathers, probably before they even made it into the mall; the thought of Rachel standing between them with her hands on her hips as she explained explicitly the recent developments to her fathers drew an inadvertent smile to Quinn's lips.

She finally gave up on her studies, realizing that she was hardly going to get anything productive done when all she could think about was either the blissful feeling of losing herself in the sensation of Rachel kissing her, or the hundreds of scenarios of how out of hand things at school could get if Rachel made a Public Service Announcement about their newly evolved relationship. Packing her things back into her bag expertly, she shuffled out of the library and took the roundabout drive back to the Berry's house. Both of Rachel's fathers' cars were in the garage, and as Quinn shut her car door she heard the telltale sound of clanging metal and arguing floating up from the basement—the air conditioner had been acting oddly recently, and it seemed that the Misters Berry were taking a stab at a home repair. Quinn took advantage of their absence from the central areas of the house and slipped up the stairs silently.

In the hallway upstairs, she could faintly hear Rachel singing in her room, no doubt practicing for her next Myspace performance. Quinn bypassed the door to her own room and continued down to Rachel's. She stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb with her arms crossed, and watched as Rachel mindlessly straightened her desk and sang along with the music wafting from her speakers.

"Hey," she said softly when the song ended. Rachel turned to face her slowly, a small smile on her lips.

"Hi," she said. "What can I do for you?"

Quinn rolled her eyes at Rachel's almost insufferable politeness, moving into the room and taking a seat at Rachel's desk. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"Sure," Rachel said. She smiled brightly and sat down at the foot of her bed.

Quinn fiddled with a hole in her jeans, trying to organize her thoughts. "We didn't really sort a whole lot out this morning," she started carefully. "And I guess I was hoping that—I was wondering if we could kind of try to pin this whole thing down. Where we stand and all that."

"Okay," Rachel said slowly. "Where do we stand?"

"Well, that's kind of what I'm trying to figure out," Quinn said. She smirked when Rachel rolled her eyes. "Seriously, though. What's going to change? Are we… dating?"

"I don't know," Rachel said, voice soft. "I'm certainly not averse to dating you." She paused. "Where do you want us to stand?"

Quinn sighed. "I don't know altogether," she admitted. "Like I said earlier, I'm… I'm really kind of terrified right now. I have no idea what's going to happen. And a part of me is as scared of being back in the spotlight—for _any_ reason, with _any_ relationship—again as I am of everything else." She bit her lip, weary of looking at Rachel for fear of the other girl understanding exactly what she was saying and being hurt by it.

"In the spotlight," Rachel murmured. "You want to keep this a secret?" Quinn could feel the hurt in Rachel's voice, as tangible as a black eye, and she swallowed deeply.

"No," she said, ashamed of the waver in her voice. "I don't want to lie to anyone about anything, much less about this. But," she added, and flinched when she saw the spark in Rachel's eyes dull slightly. "Can we… not make a spectacle out of it? Like, our friends knowing is not big deal, but I really don't want to go back to my life being public forum for the whole school."

"I have to ask," Rachel said delicately. "Is this because you're ashamed to be with a girl, or ashamed to be with me?"

"No!" Quinn said, shaking her head. "I get it if that's hard to believe, because it's kind of hard for me to believe, too. But that doesn't really bother me all that much at all. I thought it would, but after everything else, that just doesn't seem important.

"It's just… it's more that… I don't know," she mumbled out, flustered. "It used to be that everything I did was focused on popularity and maintaining that popularity. And if I've figured out one thing in the last year, it's that that just doesn't matter too much. And I don't want to go back to that. I never thought I'd want to hide in the background, but honestly, right now just in general I'd rather do that than be back in the center of attention.

"I'm not ashamed of this," she said firmly. "I need you to know that. But I'm also just so _tired_ of people watching my every move. And if everyone in school knows about this, people are going to be watching us all the time. I don't really have it in me to deal with that, not right now, not after everything else that's happened."

Rachel was quiet, fiddling with the charm on her necklace, her brow furrowed in thought.

"This is Ohio," she said suddenly.

"Yes," Quinn said slowly. Her forehead creased. "I'm aware." The unspoken confusion weighted her voice.

"This is Ohio," Rachel said again. "People have vandalized my dads' cars because they're gay. I didn't go to preschool with the rest of our class because the director wouldn't let the daughter of two men into the school. Daddy has to drive almost an hour if he wants to go to church when Dad and I go to synagogue."

Quinn remained silent; her stomach ached and she wondered how it was that she had grown up in so close-minded a home and come to be inexplicably unperturbed by the idea of dating another girl.

"People will be cruel," Rachel continued. "I'm very aware of how difficult that will be. I've been dealing with such issues my whole life, and I'm entirely prepared to continue dealing with them, no matter how they may increase of change, if I am publicly in a relationship with another girl."

She paused, and seemed to be forcing herself to look Quinn in the eye. "All that taken into consideration," she said delicately. "I will not hide who I am. I never have and I will not start now."

"That's not what I'm saying," Quinn said defensively. Almost of their own volition, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, and she sat back in her chair, as if to add space between them in case Rachel pounced in attack.

"Isn't it?" Rachel said. Her voice was pained, and it made Quinn's throat hurt.

"No," she shot back, shaking her head vehemently. "I'm not saying that we should lie to anyone. There's a difference between hiding our relationship from everyone and not _advertising_ it." She frowned. "Nothing is that black and white."

"Some things are," Rachel said.

"Seriously?" Quinn said, incredulity dripping from her voice. "Rachel, you can't honestly believe that there is only one right way to do things."

"Perhaps not only one," Rachel conceded. "And perhaps not at all in some situations. But _this_ situation? Yes, I think there is one proper way to handle it, and that is to not give more power and support to a narrow-minded prejudicial majority simply because they're a majority. Nothing ever changes if the oppressed continue to cower from the disdain of the oppressors."

"Seriously?" Quinn said again. "Oppressors? This is _high school_. We're teenagers! This isn't about oppression or politics or social change, Rachel! This is about you and me. And in case you didn't notice, half of 'you and me' is _me_, and _I_ am already going through enough stress and complications in my life without becoming a poster child for rebellion and repression."

Quinn shoved herself to her feet, anger burning at her skin; she felt like it wouldn't be much of a stretch for there to be steam coming out of her ears. Rachel, still seated on the bed, looked somewhere between incredulous at Quinn's outburst and appropriately cowed; Quinn snatched her backpack up from where she'd set it on the floor and stalked out of the room.

In her own room, she hurled her bag across the room, barely flinching when it slammed into the side of her bed and fell to the floor. Her own anger surprised her; she could barely sort her thoughts out through the fog of frustration and hurt and sheer fury bubbling in her mind, much less understand why Rachel's convictions were so suddenly infuriating her.

She paced up and down agitatedly, an anxious feeling seeping into her limbs once more. She wondered if her still-tender abdomen could handle a second run of the day, or another round of yoga, or any other kind of activity that might calm her or siphon off some of her angry energy.

With a frustrated sigh, Quinn dropped down on her bed, flopping back gracelessly crosswise. She cursed herself as much as she did Rachel; after all, this was Rachel Berry she was talking about. Of course the same girl who put a gold star sticker after her name every time she wrote, the girl who shrugged off slushie facials, the girl who determinedly and continuously tried to pilot the entire glee club through high school social hierarchies, the girl who used her two gay fathers and their connections with the ACLU as a way to get Finn a job, would refuse to even consider not making any relationship she was in public knowledge.

For the first time since Rachel kissed her, Quinn felt that maybe it would be Rachel that could keep their fledgling romance from ever taking off. Quinn knew she was incapable of handling a gossiped-fueling relationship at school right now; as strong as she was determined to be in the face of everything that had occurred, she nonetheless had only so much energy to devote to keeping herself afloat. The strain that still marked her every encounter with Finn or Puck; the ache in her stomach that lingered long after the bruising and swelling had disappeared; the awkward politeness and unbearable longing the pinched in her chest every time she spoke with anyone from her family; the stress of juggling glee club and her AP classes, especially the upcoming exams; not to mention the looming college applications that sat bookmarked on her computer… frankly, as Quinn ran through it all in her head, she was amazed that she had yet to collapse in a pile of stress-broken jello.

A hesitant knock on the door interrupted her frustrated thoughts. She bit down on her lip, unsure if she wanted to speak to Rachel just yet; the decision slipped out of her hands when, after a ten second silence, Rachel opened the door anyways and slipped inside, shutting it behind her. She stood contritely by the door, hands linked behind her back and shoulders slumped, and Quinn felt the edges of her anger dull slightly at the utterly adorable site of a completely cowed Rachel Berry.

"What's the point of knocking if you're just going to walk in anyways?" she asked snippily. Her anger was only slightly dulled, she justified to herself; it would be foolish to expect her to melt just at the fact that Rachel looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said quietly. "But I wanted to speak to you."

"Whatever," Quinn said. She leaned over the side of her bed and hauled her backpack up, ripping the zipper open and generating far more noise than was necessary as she dug through her notebooks in a desperate attempt to fill the discomforting silence.

"Quinn, I'm sorry," Rachel said again. Her voice was stronger this time, though still more timid than usual, for all that it floated over the sound of Quinn's rustling. "Your request was not unreasonable, and I was reacted instinctively and possibly harshly, and without proper consideration of your viewpoint. It was childish of me, and I apologize."

Quinn stared at the cover of her calculus textbook as she turned Rachel's words over and over in her head. Her anger was quickly vanishing, retreating faster and faster with every second Rachel stood contritely and waited for Quinn's reaction to her apology. She knew it was her turn to say something, to respond, to admit that while Rachel had been unfair, Quinn had still reacted far more drastically than was called for. Yet her eyes remained glued to her textbook, fingers tracing absently along the title; no words of apology or acceptance seemed able to rise from her throat.

After a painfully long silence, Rachel sighed softly. "I understand that you're still upset," she said carefully. "I'll give you some space. Please come find me when you'd like to discuss this further." She turned to open the door, and paused.

"And I promise not to be so selfish about it this time, too," she added.

She had opened the door and was halfway out into the hall when Quinn spoke, almost inadvertently.

"I'm not easy," she said suddenly.

Rachel halted her exit, looking over her shoulder with a thoroughly confused expression on her face.

"I'm not easy," Quinn said again. She finally looked up at Rachel, eyes and voice dull. "I mean, not in the Puck sense of easy. I'm bitchy and cranky and angry and apparently way more screwed up than even I knew."

"You aren't," Rachel said.

Quinn snorted half-heartedly. "You could at least try to make it sound like you believe that," she said dully. "We both know it's true."

"We all have our flaws," Rachel said. She slowly shut the door behind her. "You can be unnecessarily cruel when you want to be. I talk far too much and have a bad habit for being stupidly honest. It doesn't make either of us bad people."

"I'm not easy to be with," Quinn said with a shrug. "Ask Finn. I mean, you could even ask Brittany or Santana; I'm not even easy to be friends with."

Rachel matched Quinn's shrug with one of her own. "I don't care," she said. "I know all this, Quinn. I'm entirely aware of how frustrating you can be, and I don't care."

Quinn stared at her blankly. Rachel's declarations felt like they should mean far more than they actually did. Her mind acknowledged that the words were kind and loving and that they should evoke some kind of warm emotional response, the kind that made her feel like she might glow brightly from how the emotions they stirred up. But instead of that warmth, so familiar from the many times Rachel had been so caring with her, spreading in her chest, all that Quinn could acknowledge was the clamoring voices in her mind telling her that this was just the first sign of why things would never work with them. Beyond all of Quinn's emotional baggage and Rachel's obnoxious tendencies and the suffocating social limitations of school, beyond the fact that a tiny part of Quinn still took to heart the warnings bellowed by her father and preacher and Sunday School teachers that homosexuals were doomed to hell, beyond the fact that a huge part of Quinn still screamed that she was _not ready_ in the slightest sense for another relationship, there was the fact that they had completely polarized ideas of how to approach a new relationship at the stages of their lives they currently stood in.

An ache spread from Quinn's temples, across her forehead and creeping around her skull; the confusion and frustration and remaining vestiges of anger were threatening a migraine, so Quinn did the only thing she could think of and tossed her textbook away, stood from the bed and crossed the room and pinned Rachel by the shoulders against the closed door all in one fluid movement. Rachel squeaked in surprise, looking up at Quinn with confusion written across her face. Quinn stared down into wide brown eyes and, just as the pain in her temples was started to increase, she wrapped one hand around the back of Rachel's neck and kissed her roughly.

As soon as her lips touched Rachel's, the ache in Quinn's head vanished, and she all but melted into the kiss. Her thumb slid along Rachel's jaw, her other hand pressing into the door and barely holding her up. Rachel made a soft noise in the back of her throat, her hands falling to Quinn's hips and tugging her closer.

It was the first time Quinn had initiated a kiss, and it made all the difference in the world. Still so used to the height and breadth and dominating presence of Finn or Puck, Quinn found being the taller and more dominating actor in a kiss to be both unnerving and intriguing. The delicate feel of Rachel's smaller form between herself and the door was terrifying and intoxicating, and without even meaning to, Quinn found herself pressing closer. The hand that had been holding her weight fell to Rachel's shoulder, fingertips skimming down the bare skin of Rachel's arm until she found Rachel's hand on her waist and threaded their fingers together. Rachel's other hand flexed tighter on Quinn's hip, pulling her even closer. Quinn pushed their joined hands against the wall, lost in the moment of sensation and simplicity and action over thought, and her lips moved from Rachel's, across her jaw and down to her neck. Rachel's hand shifted from Quinn's hip to her lower back, fingernails digging into skin under her t-shirt; Quinn arched forward at the feel of Rachel's nail sliding up her spine, drawing a gasp out of her.

"Jesus _Christ_," Quinn muttered breathlessly, her forehead dropping down to rest on Rachel's shoulder.

"Or something," Rachel mumbled. She slipped her hand out from under Quinn's t-shirt, raising it to slide her fingers through Quinn's hair. They remained still, breathing heavily, for a long moment, before Rachel spoke again. "I'm sorry," she said once more, her voice soft. "I understand why you don't want to make a big deal to people at school about this, and I respect that. You've got enough on your plate and I don't want to add any more to that than I already have."

"Thank you," Quinn whispered. Her words came out more as a breath than vocally, skimming along Rachel's collarbone and drawing a shiver from her.

"I still firmly believe that pandering to the prejudices of the majority is a bad idea," Rachel continued. "And I would like to not make this a secret for too long, if only because I believe that will put unnecessary strain on the both of us and lead to more problems within the relationship than it would prevent and—"

"Rachel," Quinn interrupted. "If you don't shut up, I won't kiss you again."

Rachel's teeth clacked together audibly.

Quinn straightened up slowly, remaining close to Rachel, their hands still intertwined. "Thank you," she said again, making sure to look Rachel directly in the eye. "And we don't have to hide anything, especially not from our friends, but we'll just… keep the PDA and all to a minimum around everyone else, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel said. She nodded, her dark eyes solemn. She hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly in thought. "How are we going to define this? When our friends ask, what do we tell them?"

Quinn took a deep breath. "I… don't know," she finished weakly. "What do you want to tell them?"

Rachel remained quiet, and Quinn could practically see the wheels in her head turning as she pondered the question.

"We should tell them that you're my sugar momma," Quinn suggest suddenly. "We'll get you a pimp hat."

Rachel snorted and rolled her eyes, and Quinn grinned cheekily. "And a cane," she added. "With a big ruby on top."

"Or, we could just tell them that we're together," Rachel said. "We don't have to put a particular title on it. But I'm with you and you're with me and we're together and there's no one else involved. Just us."

"Or we could do that," Quinn agreed reluctantly.

They leapt apart suddenly as Rachel's dad's voice floated up the stairs. "Dinner's ready, ladies!" he bellowed. They both frantically straightened their hair and clothes, and Quinn glanced in the mirror and cursed her fair skin for flushing so easily.

"Coming!" Rachel opened the door and called down. She glanced back at Quinn, holding out her hand. "Shall we?"

Quinn took her hand, pausing to straighten her hair in the mirror once more; Rachel rolled her eyes and tugged at her hand. "They don't care," Rachel said casually. "Don't worry about it."

Quinn grumbled incoherently at her, but allowed herself to be pulled out of the room. As she followed Rachel down to the stairs, she pulled the brunette up short before they entered the kitchen. "I still think we should get you a pimp hat," she whispered nonchalantly in Rachel's ear before sauntering past her into the kitchen.

Rachel paused, coughing slightly, before following her into the kitchen. When her dad's back was turned after he handed Quinn a platter of mashed potatoes, she smiled broadly at the blonde and winked; her smile widened impossibly more when Quinn flushed delicately and bit her lip as she carried the food into the dining room.

As she set the mashed potatoes on the dining room table, Quinn, for the first time since Rachel had initially kissed her, considered the possibility that this might possibly be the first thing all year to go right.


	21. Chapter 21

Sunday passed quietly. For the second time since she moved in with the Berrys, Quinn went with Eric on the hour-long trek two towns over to attend a mid-morning Methodist service. When they made it back to Lima, she allowed—barely—Rachel to drag her out to get coffee with Brittany and Santana.

"They're your best friends," Rachel had whined plaintively. "They need to know what's going on." She had ignored Quinn's protests and apprehensions, all but levering the blonde out of the car and into the Starbucks, and had proceeded to gloat magnificently when neither Brittany nor Santana reacted beyond a "Well, duh" comment and an eye roll. The next two hours had been filled mostly with Brittany and Rachel chattering away about dance while Santana sat back with haughty posture and indulgent eyes, and Quinn stayed contentedly quiet while they prattled on, twisting the green swizzle stick from her coffee into entertaining shapes. The most interesting part of the entire day had been when, as they all prepared to part ways, Santana had yanked Rachel aside by the elbow and whispered something in her ear; Rachel had squeaked, a look of fear passing across her eyes, and only nodded meekly. Quinn, given a decade of experience in understanding Santana Lopez, knew that her best friend had probably just threatened Rachel with a slow death by steamroller if she hurt Quinn; she debated reprimanding Santana on Rachel's behalf, but decided against it. It was nice to be reminded how firmly Santana was embedded in her corner.

Monday morning, Quinn woke up at five AM from a nightmare of Jacob Ben Israel outing her and Rachel over the PA system after the morning Pledge of Allegiance and Sue Sylvester cornering them in the hallway to berate them graphically with her bullhorn, and was unable to get back to sleep. Even Rachel wouldn't be awake for another hour, and there was a full two hours until they needed to leave for school. The same energy rushed through her limbs as Saturday morning when she woke next to Rachel; this time, Quinn skipped the yoga entirely and dressed quickly for a run. She hesitated momentarily when the first long sleeve t-shirt she grabbed was from the Humane Society's 10K fundraiser two years earlier, that she had nagged Finn and Santana into running with her. Shaking her head, she shrugged into the shirt anyways, laced up her shoes, and made her way silently down the stairs and outside.

The familiar swing set that noted two miles down was in sight as she rounded a corner on the sidewalk, her attention limited to the music in her ears and the concrete beneath her feet. She suddenly slammed into what felt like a brick wall and promptly fell backwards. Her breath exploded out of her lips, accompanied with a quiet grunt at the flare of pain in her stomach, and she looked up from where she was sprawled on the ground to see a panicked-looking Finn Hudson looming over her.

"Shit," he mumbled, yanking his headphones out of his ears. He knelt down next to her, a hand hovering over her shoulder and his brow furrowed in concern. "I didn't even see you, I'm sorry." After a moment of shared hesitation, he reached out to grip her elbow gently and helped her to her feet. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she whispered. She pulled her own headphones free, wishing desperately that it wouldn't be so awkward to look him in the eye. She unintentionally wrapped her arms protectively around her stomach, her shoulders slumping, as if she expected him to lash out at her like he had the day he pummeled Puck.

Long seconds passed with Quinn all but cowering away from Finn, and him fiddling with his iPod. She remembered how long she used to have to nag and beg and cajole him before he would go for runs with her when they first started dating. The 10K race had been one of her triumphs in training him, and she supposed that if she was still the same person she had been a year ago, she'd take the fact that he was out on his own at 5:30 on a Monday morning for a run to be another victory.

"How are you?" he asked awkwardly.

"I… okay, I guess," she said. She chanced a look up at his eyes, and with a miniscule rush of relief saw none of the anger or disappointment there that she had expected. All that was left was discomfort and something that tugged at the hollow feeling in her chest. "You?"

"About the same, I guess," he said with a shrug. "Stressing about Regionals."

"Yeah, I think we all are," Quinn replied. The words were starting to flow just a little bit easier. "Especially Rachel. She's freaking out, but she won't admit it."

"Sounds about right," he said. He offered her a small half-smile, and her chest hurt a tiny bit less. His smile faded, and his brow creased again momentarily. "It's good that she's there for you," he said awkwardly. "She's a good person to have watching your back."

"Yeah," Quinn whispered. "She is."

Long seconds passed, and Quinn's arms fell from around her stomach, her hands linking in front of her; she stared down at her fingers and glanced up briefly through her eyelashes at Finn, who was shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"You never let me apologize," she blurted out suddenly. She felt her cheeks flush, and forged on quickly when she saw him open his mouth to respond. "I understand that now. I didn't, at first. I didn't get why you didn't want to hear that I was sorry. But after—after—" She fumbled, hesitating, the words growing heavy in her mouth. "After what happened in the hospital, I didn't want anyone to apologize to me, either. Because you can't fix things with an apology, and I get that now."

She bit her lip and looked up at him. He was all but folded in on himself, his shoulders slumped forward and chin bowing down towards his chest, and she swallowed the urge to grab onto him and hold onto him like a life preserver, to feel the comfort of his arms protecting her once more. Puck was protective and strong and would do anything she needed, and Rachel was wonderful and sweet and would do anything Quinn asked, but Puck was inconsistent and Rachel was worryingly high maintenance. Finn was strong and caring and simple and really had loved her, and as incredible as the progression of her relationship with Rachel felt, she could hardly deny that a part of her was still very much in love with Finn Hudson.

"Oh," he said eventually, his voice faint. "That makes sense."

Quinn tightened her hands to keep from reaching out towards him. For all that a part of her still wanted him, she knew that they had missed their chance—really, that she had blown up their chance with all of the grace and delicacy of a bazooka blast—and that what she really needed was to turn around and run the two miles back home and curl up against Rachel and listen to the brunette's assurance that everything was going to be okay.

"I am sorry, though," she added softly. "It doesn't make much difference, but I am. I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know," he said. His voice was just as quiet as hers, a low rumble that she could barely hear over the early morning sounds of crickets and twittering birds. "Rachel was right, after Christmas. I needed to grow up. Well," he added wanly. "We all did. I was just a little slower at it."

Quinn felt her throat swell, but she could do little to stop the tiny smile from spreading across her lips. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Sure thing," he said easily. He seemed to relax completely in an microsecond, his shoulders straightening and his chin lifting until his posture had returned to the casual slouch she was so used to. His usual wide grin spread across his face, and he unwound his headphones from where he had wrapped them around his iPod. "You know we've all got your back. I just needed to remember it."

"Thanks," she said again. There was less emotion falling from her voice the second time, her tone far more lighthearted. She untangled her own headphones. "I'll see you at school?"

"Yep," he said. He stuck his headphones back in his ears. "See you there." He flashed a quick smile and waved, and started jogging off in the direction she'd come from. Quinn continued to untangle her headphones with trembling fingers, stopping only when she heard him call her name.

Turning around to face him, one of her eyebrows rose of its own accord at the sight of him jogging back towards her. She felt a flash of fear that he was going to rescind everything he'd just said and laugh and throw a slushy at her.

"I run out here almost every morning," he said, shuffling his feet awkwardly. Her other eyebrow rose. She had never thought she could actually turn Finn Hudson into a habitual runner. He smiled sheepishly. "I know, right? I guess I finally figured out what you liked about it so much."

They shared the first comfortable smile in months, and he cleared his throat, flushing lightly. "Anyways. We could maybe run together sometime. If you want. Like we used to. Only if you want to," he added hastily.

Quinn stared at him in disbelief. The boy whose heart she had broken, who she had lied to through her teeth in an attempt to keep, who she so effectively and unintentionally shoved completely out of her own reach, was not only forgiving her, but proposing going for runs together.

Not for the first time, Quinn marveled at Finn Hudson and how drastically everyone underestimated him.

"That'd be great," she said earnestly.

"Awesome," he said. He smiled again and started off once more, only to pause again and look back at her. "You're a lot different now," he said solemnly. "We both are, I guess. Maybe we can just start over?"

"Maybe," she whispered. She watched as he jogged off, broad shoulders back and straight, and stared until he was out of sight. By the time she started her run again, she was late and had to push her pace to make it back in time to jump into the shower as Rachel was whirring away on her elliptical.

Quinn was preoccupied as she sipped on her coffee and stared blankly at the comics Eric had handed her silently. Rachel's cheerful greetings to her fathers and Quinn was all that pulled the blonde from her musings about her interaction with Finn. She felt a hitch in her throat when Rachel's bright smile faltered the tiniest bit at Quinn's melancholy, and she struggled to find a reassuring smile to offer her.

It was Quinn's turn to drive, and before they even made it out of the driveway, Rachel was blatantly staring at her.

"Can you cut back on the staring?" Quinn muttered irritably. "It's weird."

"You're the one who's acting unusually," Rachel said. "What's wrong? Are you nervous about the rest of glee finding out about us? Or that someone will tell the rest of the school? Because you know that Santana will make sure that no one—"

"That's not it," Quinn interjected. She paused, contemplating Rachel's questions, and felt a nauseating roll in her stomach. "Though now that you mention it, yes, I'm a little terrified about that. Thanks so very much for bringing it up."

"Well, what is it, then?"

Quinn sighed. Her fingers drummed inadvertently on the steering wheel with the music. "I went for a run this morning," she started.

"Again?" Rachel said. She frowned. "Quinn, you really shouldn't run so often. Even for someone who isn't in your situation, it's very hard on your body, especially your joints. You'll do all sorts of damage to your knees and—"

"Rachel!" Quinn snapped. She bit back the urge to go absolutely ballistic at Rachel about the exact details of her _situation_. "This interrupting thing? We're totally going to have to work on that."

"Sorry," Rachel mumbled. She had the grace to look properly chastised for a full four seconds before locking her gaze back onto Quinn. "Anyways. You went for a run this morning, and…?"

Quinn sighed again. "I saw Finn."

"Finn gets out of bed before first period?"

Quinn snorted half-heartedly. "Apparently. I used to drag him out on runs with me all the time, and apparently I rubbed off on him. He said he runs there almost every day."

Rachel made an undecipherable sound, and Quinn elected to bypass trying to figure out what it meant. She adjusted her hands on the steering wheel and bit her lip in hesitation, staring intently at the taillights of the car in front of her.

"He wants to start over," she said softly. "I think I need to tell him what's going on with—with us. Tell him first, at least. I don't want him to hear it from anyone else." She slowed to a stop at a red light. Her hands fell from the steering wheel, and she scrubbed her palms against the material of her pants absentmindedly. Rachel's hand came to rest on one of hers, and Quinn unthinkingly turned her palm up, fingers gliding between Rachel's smoothly.

"That makes sense," Rachel said. Her voice was quiet. "Do you want me to tell him?"

"No," Quinn said quickly. "I need to do this. We've got history."

Rachel nodded. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, and her forehead creased. "When do you want to tell him?"

Quinn took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I don't know. Today, I guess. Maybe at lunch or something."

"Oh," Rachel said faintly. "You may want to consider doing so a bit sooner."

Quinn slotted a look over at her, eyebrows raising slowly. "Why's that?"

"Because," Rachel started. She faltered. "Well, because Brittany and Santana texted everyone last night about a meeting for glee during homeroom and they were going to tell everyone. So we didn't have to. And also so Santana could threaten everyone all at once."

"_What_?" Quinn was momentarily proud of the fact that she managed to avoid swerving the car into a ditch. She shot an infuriated look over at Rachel. "What the hell possessed you to come up with that idea?"

"I didn't!" Rachel said. She stared at Quinn with wide eyes. "It was Brittany's idea, I swear. She said that you would be freaking out and that when you freak out you bottle everything up and frankly she has a point, you know, because you do have a really bad habit of doing that. But Brittany said that if you worried about it you wouldn't do it and that if she and Santana told people then you and I wouldn't have to, and Santana could make sure that no one did anything they shouldn't and—"

Quinn whipped the car into a parking spot, slamming it into park and holding a hand up to silence Rachel's tirade. Rachel stopped speaking immediately. Her gaze dropped to her knees, her hands folded atop the black material of her skirt and her shoulders slumped.

Quinn counted to ten in her head slowly, taking a deep breath, then another, and a third. "Okay," she said slowly. "Do I have time to get to him before this public service announcement?"

Rachel glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "Yes," she said meekly.

Nodding once, Quinn leapt gracefully out of the car. She grabbed her books and strode off towards the school, silent and torn between being terrified about having to tell Finn and upset with Rachel and Brittany and Santana for forcing a deadline onto her. She heard Rachel scrambling to gather her books and catch up, but she was no match for Quinn's long athletic strides; Quinn let the door swing shut behind her and was halfway down the hall towards Finn's locker before Rachel made it inside.

He was standing at his locker, looking horribly uncomfortable as Susie Peppers smiled up at him adoringly, his hand gripping tightly to the strap of his backpack and eyes darting around desperately. Quinn recognized the desperate look on his face immediately—she had seen it far too many times when he had wanted nothing more than to either get away from her or keep her from being mad at him—and forcibly pushed away the anger she was feeling at Rachel and Brittany.

Striding purposefully over to his locker, she grabbed his elbow possessively. "I need to borrow Finn for a minute," she said icily to Susie. "You can go now."

The other girl stared at her, looking as if she might argue. Quinn took a half step forward, putting herself in front of Finn, and narrowed her eyes. "On your way, Peppers, before I find it for you," she all but snarled.

No matter how much had changed in the last year, Quinn could hardly deny that it felt something akin to incredible to channel her old cheerleading head-bitch-in-charge persona and see Susie Peppers scurry away in fear. And apparently, she noted, Finn still found something appealing about it; he was looking down at her with a cross of appreciation and the same attraction that had struck him dumb so often when they first started dating.

"Thanks," he said. "She kind of terrifies me."

"Sure," Quinn said absently. She took a deep breath. "Finn, I… can we talk for a second?"

"Yeah, sure," he said. He spun the dial on his locker, banging it open. "We just have to get to that meeting for glee. Don't want to be late or Santana might hit me." He started off towards the rehearsal room. Quinn, in a moment of panic, darted off after him—curse him and his unbelievably long strides—and grabbed his elbow once more, yanking him into an empty classroom.

"Uh," he said slowly, stumbling across the threshold. "What?"

"You don't need to go to the meeting," Quinn said. She set her books down, unable to make herself look up at him. "I know what she's telling everyone, and—" Her breath hitched in her throat. "I need to tell you, not her."

"Okay?" he said. His brow creased, as it always did, and he slowly set his backpack down. She finally looked up at him and felt her chest tighten at the apprehension in his eyes. Tears started to well up, and she started up at the ceiling in an effort to keep them back; a strangled half-sob escaped her lips anyways and she wished more than anything that she could just _stop _doing things that hurt Finn Hudson.

"Hey," he said softly. He stepped forward, a hand coming to rest on her shoulder comfortingly. "What's wrong?"

Without even meaning to—habit more than anything, she told herself—she folded into him, her arms wrapping around his waist and her head burrowing into his shoulder. The familiar feel of his arms around her shoulders was unbelievably comforting; she clinched at his shirt desperately in an attempt to stop herself from crying.

"I need to tell you something," she mumbled into his shirt.

"Okay," he said. She felt it more than heard it, her forehead still pressed to his shoulder. It was eerily similar to when Sue had told the glee club that the school knew about Quinn's pregnancy and she had broken down in his arms in the hallway. His own fear from then was exchanged for palatable confusion, but the feel of him holding her protectively was exactly the same.

Taking a deep breath, Quinn straightened up and forced herself to take a step back. She had only felt his arms around her for a few seconds, but it had felt like a security blanket—warm and friendly and comforting and familiar—that left her cold in its absence.

"I…" she faltered. Frustration welled in her chest. She was Quinn Fabray, for God's sake; Quinn Fabray didn't get nervous like this, even if she's been kicked off the Cheerios and kicked out of two houses and fallen to the very bottom of the social hierarchy. She conveniently ignored the fact that she often felt as much off-balance and nervous around Rachel, and took another deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "It's about me. And Rachel. What Santana's telling the club, I mean."

"What?" His forehead crinkled up. "You guys aren't going to have, like, a diva-off to be the queen bitch of glee or something, are you?"

"What? No!" Quinn stared at him incredulously. "She and Mercedes might, but trust me, I have _no_ desire to be the queen bitch of anything again."

"Oh," he said. He nodded as if he understood the countless layers of meaning in her words, though she could tell that he didn't. "What is it, then?"

Quinn bit her lip. "It's… well," she fumbled. "We're… together." She made an ineffective swirling gesture with her hands, as if unrecognizable sign language would somehow make him understand what she was trying to say.

"Huh?" Unsurprisingly, the sign language was useless. He was looking at her oddly, as if he expected that she'd finally lost her marbles and he may have to improvise a straightjacket out of his backpack.

"Together," Quinn repeated.

"What, like you're going to be glee co-captains together or something? That would be totally be great, because I don't want to be a captain in glee _and_ football, and you'd be way better at it, anyways."

"No," Quinn said softly. "Like… the only time I feel like even with everything that's gone so wrong this year it might all still work out is when she kisses me, together."

Quinn watched fearfully as the realization dawned in his eyes, and was immediately eclipsed by the violently red flush that spread across his cheeks; his eyes crossed and slammed shut, his fists clenching as he muttered something silently to himself over and over. She turned her eyes to the hands on her watch as she waited for him to speak, her fingernails digging into the skin of her arms.

"Oh, God," he finally squeaked out aloud. It sounded like he may have hit the high F that Kurt had worked so hard for.

"Finn?" she whispered. She took a half step forward, coming to a halt with one hand reaching out to touch his arm. He jumped back, hands up in front of him.

"Don't!" He took another step back, doubling the distance between them. "I just… need a second." He squeezed his eyes shut again. "Mail, mail, mail," he muttered under his breath.

Quinn, suddenly far more lighthearted now that she knew he was just being a sixteen year old boy and wasn't about to lose his temper at her again, bit back a smile and let her hand fall to her side. She fiddled with her books, straightening them absently as she waited.

"Okay," he said after a long silence. She ventured a glance up at him.

"You okay?" Try as she might, she couldn't contain the amusement in her voice entirely.

"Yeah," he said. His voice was a little strangled, and he rubbed a hand over his head, flustered. "So… you. And Rachel? Really?"

"Yeah," she said softly, her amusement slipping away. "Really."

"Wow," he said. He shook his head slowly. "Since when? And how? And… just, _wow_. That's like the most random thing ever. And maybe the hottest. But mostly the random."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You're not going to start acting like Puck about this, are you? Because I don't think I can handle two of him."

"No," he said defensively. "Well, okay, come on. The last two girls I dated who happen to be some of the hottest in, like, Ohio are suddenly _together_ and I'm not allowed to…" his voice trailed off, and a stricken look appeared. "Oh, my God. Did I turn you guys into lesbians?"

"What?" Quinn barked out a laugh. "No! I'm not gay." She flushed at the "_yeah, right_" look he shot her. "I mean, okay, maybe a little. But it's more like… it's a thing about _her_, not about girls."

He nodded slowly, rubbing a hand over his hair. "I guess that makes sense." He took a deep breath. "So, when did this happen?"

"Just recently," Quinn said quickly. "Like, in the last week. This weekend, really." She paused. "We told Brittany and Santana yesterday. Well, Rachel did. I kind of sat there and played with the swizzle stick from my coffee."

He chuckled. "Sounds about right." He paused. "And that's what Santana's meeting is about?"

"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "Apparently, Brittany and Rachel decided that it would be _prudent_ to tell the club about this all together, so the better for Big Bad Santana to threaten evisceration to anyone who might out us to the rest of the school."

"I don't know what that means," he said. As she automatically opened her mouth to define "evisceration", he quickly added "I don't need to! Pretty sure it's bad." He smiled crookedly as Quinn's mouth clicked shut.

She returned his smile cautiously. "So… are you okay with this?" she ventured. She looked up at him apprehensively, consciously forcing herself to look him square in the eye, and to not bite her lip—she had learned early on in their relationship that it was a surefire way to get whatever she wanted out of him, and even though she did it without meaning to most of the time, it felt wrong to appeal to any of his weaknesses in their situation.

He was quiet for a long few seconds, his eyebrows knitted together as he thought about her question. Quinn picked at the edge of one of her notebooks, shifting her weight back and forth.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said eventually. "I mean, it's not like you need my permission or anything, anyways. It's not like I could ever tell either of you what to do, or that I had any right to anyways, right?" He offered her a half smile, shoving his hands into his pockets and shrugging.

"I guess so," she said. "I didn't want to drop it on you like this," she added. "I wanted to tell you before everyone else, but I thought I had at least until lunch to figure out a plan of attack. Then Rachel told me about their brilliant plan on the way over here, and I kind of panicked."

"You're Quinn Fabray, you don't panic," he parroted, nailing her head cheerleader tone perfectly and drawing a laugh from her. She thanked God ten different ways for Finn's good heart and ability to break the tension between them; they both knew that she very well _did_ panic, and that when she did, she tended to do monumentally stupid things like lying about the father in her teenage pregnancy and hurting all of her friends in the process. It was amazing, she noted, how much better they got along now, when they were just friends, and she was struck with a pang of fear that maybe the comfort she felt with Rachel would dissipate as they shifted into being in a relationship.

"If you were a dude, I'd have to threaten you about hurting her," Finn said suddenly. "Or if you were dating another guy, I'd have to threaten him about hurting you. How does that work if you're both girls? I can't hit a girl."

"Maybe you should threaten me anyways," she said without really meaning to. "I seem to be really good at hurting people. Maybe if I know I'm going to get punched in the face I might be more careful." She slumped against the desk she had been leaning on, her arms folding across her stomach habitually and head drooping.

"That's not fair," he said. She didn't look up when she felt him drop his backpack by her feet and lean against the desk beside her. "I mean, yeah, you really hurt my feelings. And Puck's too, I guess. But you didn't _mean_ to hurt anyone. Remember what Rachel said at Christmas? That you made a mistake and tried to fix and it got out of control. She was right. I mean, you totally tried to fix it the _wrong_ way, but you were trying to do, like, damage control."

He paused, and she resisted the urge to look up at him and beg him to continue explaining to her that she wasn't a horrible lying harpy. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't think you're going to hurt her. Everyone could tell how close you two were when you were in the hospital, and that she's pretty much the only person you'll talk to anymore." He bumped his shoulder against hers gently. "Even dumb old me could see it. Hell, even _Puck_ could see it."

She laughed sadly, shaking her head and leaning against him. "Thank you," she whispered.

"No problem," he said. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. After a few seconds he added, "If you do hurt her, I'll find a way to send Santana after you. She can totally hit girls."

Quinn choked out another laugh. "Noted," she said. She took a slow breath and straightened up, turning to face him. "How do you think the others are going to take it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Most of them probably won't care. But you'll totally have to be the one who goes after Rachel when she goes all diva and walks out of rehearsal."

Quinn chuckled softly, pushing her hair back. "Kurt will be ecstatic," she said. She smirked when Finn stared at her blankly, straightening her books and tucking them into her arms. "He has a crush the size of Russia on you, Finn."

"He what?" Finn fumbled with the strap on his backpack, almost dropping it on his foot as he stood from the desk to join her. "Me?"

With a giggle, Quinn shook her head. "You knew it," she said, following him as he shuffled dazedly out of the room. "Whenever you wear short sleeves he stares at your arms with this dreamy look in his eyes."

Finn cleared his throat loudly, coughing and rubbing a hand over his hair. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Quinn confirmed.

"Oh," he said faintly. "Did I… do something?"

"To make him like you?" Quinn shook her head amusedly. "Finn, you're the best guy in this school. That's all you did. He just has good taste."

Finn blushed, ducking his head, but not before Quinn could see a grateful smile tugging at his lips. "Oh," he said again. "Thanks." He pulled his eyes up to meet hers, and she felt a tug at her heart once more. "Should I like… talk to him or something? Like, he knows I, you know, like girls, right?"

"I'm sure he's aware," Quinn said. She slowed to a stop as they reached the doorway to the rehearsal room. "What with the cheerleading girlfriend and the super feminine almost-girlfriend in Rachel and all." The smile pulling at her lips faded as she stared at the closed door.

"You good?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," she said. Her voice was faint, and she wondered how cowardly it would be for her to sprint back to the car and skip school that day.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she said again. She shook off the apprehension, inhaling deeply and squaring her shoulders. Taking a brief second to glance back at Finn's encouraging eyes, she reached for the doorknob.

As she was about to open the door, it was wrenched open away from her, startling both of them. She jumped back as a fuming Puck stood in the doorway, looking torn between surprise at seeing her and anger. He stared at her for a long few seconds, a look of pure pain crossing his features before he clinched his jaw and shoved past the both of them.

Inside, the rest of the glee club was standing and staring at the doorway. Santana looked disgruntled, her hands on her hips; Brittany was shaking her head sadly, murmuring something in Santana's ear. Kurt looked pleased, standing next to a shell-shocked Mercedes. Matt and Mike looked slightly uncomfortable, but nonplussed beyond that. Tina, sitting on Artie's lap, stared at Quinn thoughtfully; Artie himself had a dazed look in his eyes that would probably earn him a slap on the arm from Tina if she was facing him to see it.

Rachel stood next to Santana and Brittany, her shoulders slumped, and was looking at Quinn with a look of pure apprehension.

Santana finally broke the awkward silence, turning away from the group to stride over to Quinn, stopping squarely in front of her. "He's pissed," she said softly. "Really pissed." Her eyes darted over Quinn's shoulder to where Finn stood uncomfortably. "Do I need to threaten you, too, quarterback?"

"No!" Finn said hurriedly, his voice a few octaves higher than normal. "Don't worry about it. Nothing to worry about from me."

"Good," Santana snapped. She shifted her eyes back to Quinn, and her gaze softened immeasurably. "Calm down, Q," she said lowly. "They're fine with it. This is like the gayest room in Ohio right now. They don't care."

Quinn, her thoughts swirling around the image of Rachel staring at her fearfully, nodded distractedly. "Thank you," she whispered. She gripped Santana's hand briefly, offering her a tight smile, before stepping past her friend and making her way to the center of the room and coming to a stop in front of a lost-looking Rachel. The brunette, her usual confidence and swagger wholly absent, dropped her chin towards the floor, and the pressure around Quinn's chest tightened. She reached out carefully, a hand moving to rest on Rachel's forearm.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly. "What did Puck do?"

"I'm fine," Rachel said. "He just surprised me, is all." She finally looked up. "He's hurt."

Quinn nodded distractedly, staring intently at Rachel. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Yes," Rachel whispered. She offered a weak smile. "Except for Noah, it went better than we thought."

Quinn nodded again. Her eyes darted away from Rachel's smile and around to their teammates. They were all awkwardly trying to pretend that they hadn't been watching the entire exchange, and she couldn't help the tiny smirk that swept across her lips.

"They told you all, then?" she asked levelly. There were awkward coughs and cleared throats, and everyone shifted around uncomfortably. It reminded Quinn of any number of cheerleading team meetings she had been through when Coach Sylvester was inexplicably furious at them and, much like her exchange with Susie Peppers just a few minutes earlier, felt like a comfortable step back into her role atop the social hierarchy.

"I'll take that as a yes," she went on. "I'll also assume that we aren't going to have a problem with anyone here?"

A multitude of shaken heads and quickly-offered "_no way_" answers echoed around the room, every other person in there clearly remembering what it was like to be on the bad side of an angry and in-charge Quinn Fabray. She nodded approvingly. "Wonderful," she all but chirped. She just as easily slipped right back out of her cheerleading demeanor, her smile shifting to the soft and shy one that came out so often during glee, and her eyes softened as she added, "Thank you, guys. Really."

She returned her focus to Rachel, who still looked unsure.

"Okay, let's split," Santana said loudly as she stared pointedly at everyone else in the room. "Time to get to first period. Move it or lose it, people."

She started herding people towards the door, tossing jackets to their owners and shooing them expertly; a swift but actually rather gentle kick to the shins of Mike and Matt pulled them from their teenage porn star fantasies, and they scrambled out of the room with matching blushes.

"Come on, B," Santana said, wrapping her hand around Brittany's. "Ellen and Portia need some alone time."

"Who?" Brittany questioned. "What about Quinn and Rachel?"

Santana rolled her eyes indulgently, and Quinn swallowed her own smirk and instead offered another thankful look to Santana as the cheerleader tugged Brittany out of the room.

"I'm sorry," Rachel blurted out as soon as the door shut behind Brittany's swishing blonde ponytail and surprising Quinn. "We should have talked to you before we got everyone together and it was selfish of me to decide to just go on and tell people without consulting you beforehand, and I understand that you wanted more time before you spoke to Finn and—"

"It's okay," Quinn interrupted, clapping a hand gently over Rachel's mouth. "Really. Calm down and breathe. It's too early in the morning for me to deal with you hyperventilating." She nodded approvingly when Rachel, eyes wide, relaxed under her touch.

With a sigh, Quinn pulled away and sat down delicately on one of the chairs. "Finn was great about it," she said simply. "And Puck will come around." She paused, and momentarily contemplated apologizing for her reaction earlier. The stubborn part of her that was continually frustrated by Rachel's pathological need to _act_ and _control_ everything squashed her apology before it passed her lips.

Rachel hesitantly perched on a chair next to Quinn, hands folded in her lap and wide eyes locked on Quinn's profile. "Are we okay?" she asked softly. "I realize that I may have been out of line about this morning and that it was unfair of me to make a decision like this without asking your input first."

Quinn looked at Rachel out of the corner of her eye, drinking in the brunette's words. "I want to say that it's fine," she said. "And in the whole big-picture idea, it is. But I can't do this if you're going to keep trying to make all the decisions. I'm in this just as much as you are, and it's really unfair for you to try and control it all on your own."

"I know," Rachel said dejectedly. She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, pacing up and down. Quinn's eyes followed her path unintentionally. "I'm really high maintenance, and I know. I don't want to put you into a situation where you feel like I'm trying to walk over you or control you or anything like that."

"I'm a control freak, too, Rach," Quinn interjected. "Granted, I'm not quite as good at it as you are, but I doubt anyone in the country is." She smirked playfully at the half-smile her sarcasm drew from Rachel. "But I do get it. And I'll probably screw up the same way. We both need to work on it, is all."

"Okay," Rachel said. "We'll work on it together."

"Okay," Quinn echoed. Rachel slowed to a halt, staring at Quinn cryptically for long seconds. Quinn flushed delicately and coughed, looking down at her knees and letting out a relieved breath when the first bell for classes rang. She hopped out of her chair athletically, pasting a bright smile on her face. "Walk you to class?"

"Sure," Rachel said shyly. "I'd like that." She gathered her own books, grasping them tightly to her chest.

Quinn stopped suddenly by the door, hand hovering over the doorknob, and turned abruptly to face Rachel, a sudden though drawing her eyebrows together. "Will it bother you if I start going running with Finn?"

Rachel blinked in surprise, her head cocking to one side. "I…don't know," she said slowly. "I hadn't really thought about it. But I suppose it could be misconstrued, you spending so much regular time with your ex-boyfriend."

"Isn't he technically your ex-boyfriend, too?" Quinn asked. She paused, her contemplative look mirroring the one that crossed Rachel's face. Quinn shook her head, sighing. "Tangled webs, right?"

"Very tangled," Rachel said. She offered a small smile. "If you and Finn are going to be friends, I'm fine with it," she added softly. "Because he's my friend, too. And he really is a good friend, and I want you to have that. I'm not so arrogant as to think that I'm enough for you to not want to have other friends, and it would be petty of me to try and pretend as much. And regardless—"

Quinn cut her off by stepping forward and kissing her softly. "You talk too much sometimes," she said gently, pulling back just enough to speak.

"I do," Rachel breathed out. She pressed forward and kissed Quinn once more, cradling her books in one arm as the other went around the taller girl's neck.

The one-minute warning bell echoed over their heads. "I vote for skipping first period," Rachel mumbled against Quinn's jaw. "There's not a class in here until fourth."

Quinn elbowed her gently, a smile spreading across her lips regardless. "I have history first period and the AP exam is coming up," she admonished.

"You study too much," Rachel said grumpily.

"You practice too much," Quinn shot back. She pressed a kiss to the corner of Rachel's mouth before stepping back and opening the door behind her.

"That's impossible," Rachel said, following Quinn out of the room. Quinn rolled her eyes and jerked her head to the left.

"I have to get to class," she said. She tamped down on the desire to take Rachel up on her offer and skip first period, as the idea of spending an hour making out with Rachel in the deserted rehearsal room—really, even the idea of just sitting silently in the deserted rehearsal room and studying with Rachel—far more appetizing than studying for the AP US History exam.

She paused, half turned down the hallway, and offered a coy smile over her shoulder that she'd almost forgotten how to use in the past months. "I have third period free," she said flirtatiously, her voice lilting quietly.

Rachel smiled brilliantly at her. "I have a study period," she said. "Meet you back here?"

"Can't wait," Quinn said. She winked at the brunette, surprising herself as much as she knew she did Rachel, and made her way down the hallway at a jog. Even making it to the classroom in record time, she still was walking into history fifteen seconds after the late bell. The head shake and admonishment from her teacher, and the knowing smirk from Santana as Quinn slid into the empty seat next to her, did little to quash the small smile gracing her lips.


	22. Chapter 22

Puck disappeared for a week and a half. Or, more specifically, he disappeared out of Quinn's life for a week and a half. She knew that he was, at least, alive—Santana had traded texts with him, as had Artie and Matt—but nothing beyond that. When Santana just shook her head, her mouth tight and eyes guarded, the first time Quinn asked about him, the blonde took it as a sign that he had told whoever he spoke to that he wanted nothing to do with her or Rachel, at least for the time being.

Her concern about Puck, and his feelings towards her and her newfound relationship with Rachel, left her oscillating constantly between distraction and euphoria for those three days. Rachel managed to take Quinn's swinging moods in stride, slipping only a few times into frustration about Quinn's obvious preoccupation with the missing boy. Brittany was a constant support, as was Finn, and Santana kept Quinn up to date about the fact that Puck was at least still alive, not in jail, and still in Lima.

Quinn was sitting in the living room, staring blankly at the television while she mulled over how to handle the whole situation with Puck, when Rachel tossed one of her jackets at her. She spit out a mouthful of cotton and shot a questioning glare at the brunette.

"Come on," Rachel said by way of explanation. She shook the car keys in her hand. "Let's go find him."

"Beg pardon?"

"Noah," Rachel said. She shrugged into her own jacket, pulling her hair loose from the collar briskly. "It's not exactly a huge town, and even if it was, we can probably talk Santana or Artie or Matt into telling us where he is. Or, if we really have to, his mom or sister." She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at Quinn with wide eyes.

"I… what?"

Rachel sighed frustratedly. "Quinn," she said lowly. "Get up and put your coat on so we can go find Noah and slap some sense into him. Or, at the very least, _talk_ to him. You're ridiculously distracted about it. I mean, you barely participated in glee today, and you haven't done a single bit of studying since we got home. If I have to go track him down alone and sedate him to get him back here so you can sort this out with him, _I will_. But," she added. "I'd rather you and I just go find wherever he's hiding and sit down and talk with him."

Quinn stared dumbly at Rachel, her eyes wide. "Okay?" she said meekly. She allowed Rachel to lever her off of the couch and towards the door.

"Do you know where to start looking?" Quinn asked as they pulled out of the neighborhood.

"Yes," Rachel said after a slight hesitation, biting down on her lip. She looked at Quinn out of the corner of her eye with what Quinn had come to recognize as her guilty I've-been-scheming face.

"You know where he is," she accused. "You've known the whole time!"

"Not the whole time!" Rachel said quickly. "I promise." She glanced over at Quinn once more, a plaintive look in her eyes that was clearly all but begging Quinn to believe her. "I just found out a little bit before I came downstairs. I owe Brittany about six hours of vocal lessons for getting it out of Santana—and oh, how I do _not_ want to know how she managed that—but I was just getting so tired of watching you mope around. It's not healthy to be so distracted, and when you weren't studying for the AP exams I started to get really worried. And—"

She cut herself off, biting down on her lip and narrowing her eyes at the road nervously. Quinn raised her eyebrows, staring openly across the small car at Rachel. "And what, exactly?" she asked tartly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"And…you blew me off today during your free period," Rachel muttered, flushing darkly.

Quinn stared at her incredulously for a long few seconds before laughing shortly. "I've been freaking out all week about Puck hating us and running away, and it takes me _not_ making out with you in the rehearsal room during third period for you to do anything about it?"

"To be fair, he ran off on Monday, and it's only Thursday," Rachel said defensively. "It's not like I watched you suffer for weeks and only did this because you wouldn't kiss me." She paused, glancing over at Quinn with a pained look in her eyes.

"I've hated watching you worry about it all week and not being able to help," she said, her voice soft. "I didn't want to push because I know you hate it when I do that, and I thought if I waited you would come to me, but then you didn't study at all yesterday or today, and then today when you blew me off I finally gave up on waiting for you to ask for my help."

Quinn remained silent, arms still crossed over her chest, though her shoulders slumped in defeat. She sighed, turning back to face the road in front of them. She didn't recognize where they were.

"Okay," she said eventually. "You're right. I'm sorry." For all that she _was_ apologetic, it still felt like pulling teeth to verbalize it. Years of being the unapologetic queen of both middle school and high school had left her unaccustomed to actually saying the word _sorry_; if felt foreign on her tongue.

"It's okay," Rachel responded. Her voice cut through Quinn's discomfort. "I know that I don't understand how you feel, about the situation or where you stand with Puck, but I do understand that it's obviously very uncomfortable. I just want to help you make things right with him, however you need to.

"So I'll make out with you during third period?" Quinn said with a small smile.

"Mostly so you'll feel better," Rachel said. She shot a smirk over at Quinn. "But also so you'll make out with me during third period. It's quickly become the highlight of my days, you know."

"It outranks glee?"

"Glee was tough competition initially, but making out won in the end. Handily.

"Myspace performances?" Quinn smirked when she saw a tiny hesitation in Rachel's jaw before the brunette answered, "Also tough, but you won that one, too."

"Well," Quinn started, but she was unable to think of how to finish the thought. Instead, she unthinkingly reached over with her left hand and unwrapped Rachel's fingers on her right from the steering wheel, clasping their hands together gently.

They continued on in comfortable silence until Rachel pulled into a parking lot at an apartment complex five miles outside of the city limits. Puck's pickup truck sat in one of the distant parking spots. Quinn stared at the dilapidated building in front of her, taking in dirty windows and rusty doorknobs. Puck's truck, which was easily ten years old, was probably the nicest car in the lot.

"What is this place?" Quinn half-whispered. She shrank away from the window when she saw a man her grandfather's age stumble out of one of the doors at the other end of the building from where they sat, making his way unsteadily to a rusty blue sedan and fumbling for his keys.

Rachel clenched Quinn's hand a little tighter—whether out of comfort or fear, Quinn wasn't sure. "His father lives here," Rachel said softly.

Quinn's head snapped around to face Rachel. "His _what_?"

"His father," Rachel repeated. "I always thought he'd left town, but apparently not."

Quinn's head throbbed, memories racing around of a seven year old Puck with a black eye and a broken arm who said he'd fallen out of a tree; a nine year old Puck who sat out from recess for two weeks because his ribs were cracked, supposedly from playing football without pads; a fourteen year old Finn confessing to her the countless times Puck had snuck out of the house with his mother and sister when his father was drunk, of Puck and Finn staying up all night guarding the door to the guest room at Finn's house where Puck's mother and sister slept, just in case his father figured out where they were. Quinn knew that no one but Finn and Puck's family were supposed to know exactly how perfectly the senior Puckerman epitomized Lima Losers, but two years of dating Puck's best friend had led to Finn opening up to her about exactly why Puck hated his father so much.

"Has he been here the whole time?" she forced out. Without meaning to, her fingers clenched tightly around Rachel's hand. The small gasp of pain from the other girl fell on Quinn's deaf ears as she stared fearfully at the pickup truck sitting in the parking lot.

"Yes," Rachel squeaked out. "Quinn, please, my hand."

"What?" Quinn muttered distractedly. She only pulled her eyes away from the pickup truck when she felt Rachel's free hand wrapping around her wrist and tugging. "Oh," she said, eyes wide. She immediately released Rachel's hand, pulling her arm back quickly. "I'm sorry. I just…"

Her voice trailed off as she looked back towards Puck's truck. "Does Finn know he's here?"

"I don't think so," Rachel said. She was staring at Quinn inquisitively. "Quinn, what's wrong?"

"He shouldn't be here," Quinn mumbled. Even throughout everything she had been through with Puck—falling into bed with him behind Finn's back, fighting with him over the fate of their child, her frustration and anger at his apparently incessant need for sex, his anger at her decisions that kept them apart—and even though they had never actually been friends, she could do little to avoid the building concern at the knowledge that he was with the man who had abused his entire family.

Shame warred with concern, as she bitterly realized that he was only there because of her.

"Quinn," Rachel said sharply.

"Call Finn," Quinn said, her voice quiet. "We need to get him out of there, but I doubt he'll listen to either of us."

"Quinn," Rachel said again. She reached out, her hand coming to rest on Quinn's forearm.

"Rachel, _please_," Quinn snapped. "Get Finn over here."

"Okay," Rachel said softly. She kept her hand on Quinn's arm as she retrieved her phone with the other and dialed Finn. Quinn's eyes remained locked on the truck, Rachel's short conversation with Finn incomprehensible through her racing thoughts. She only moved when Rachel's hand shifted on her arm, sliding down to grasp her hand.

"Is he coming?"

"Five minutes," Rachel said. She slid her fingers between Quinn's. "Will you tell me why the both of you are so concerned about this?"

Quinn exhaled slowly, turning back to face a confused Rachel. "It's not really my place to tell," she said haltingly. "I mean, I'm not even really supposed to know, I only know because Finn told me a few years ago." She hesitated, gripping Rachel's fingers tighter instinctively.

"His dad isn't just a loser," Quinn whispered. "He's a real bastard." She almost smirked at the surprised look in Rachel's eyes are Quinn's swearing—as sharp as her tongue had always been, she had never needed curses to drive home a point—but couldn't summon the energy.

Rachel remained silent, her eyes focused on their intertwined fingers. Quinn could practically hear the gears in her head turning as she put the pieces together.

"He hit them," she said eventually. It wasn't a question, and Quinn nodded wordlessly. She watched as Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Why would he come here, then?"

"I don't know," Quinn said. "I guess he didn't want us to find him?"

"But Santana knew he was here," Rachel said. Her eyes flashed. "Why would she let him stay here?"

"She doesn't know," Quinn said. "No one did, except Finn and his mom. I don't think that Puck even knows that Finn told me anything about it."

"That's stupid," Rachel muttered. "There are people who could have helped. The police, social services, there are shelters for abuse victims. Why didn't they go to them?"

Quinn shrugged helplessly. "I don't know," she said. "But this is Puck, you know? He thinks he can take on the whole world."

"Except for getting a slushie to the face," Rachel mumbled. Her eyes flicked over Quinn's shoulder, and Quinn turned to see Finn leaping out of his car. She shoved her door open and scrambled out to meet him.

"He's been here the whole time?" Finn asked hurriedly.

"Apparently," Quinn said. "I don't know why he came, but you know you're the only one who can get him to come home."

"Yeah," Finn muttered, his jaw set. Quinn could only ever remember seeing him so upset once before, and it had ended with Puck nursing a sore jaw and her homeless once again. "Which one?"

"Eighteen," Rachel said softly. She looked tiny standing between the two of them, arms wrapped around her stomach guiltily. Quinn could see the fear in her eyes and felt a stab of guilt for panicking on Rachel. She watched as Finn nodded shortly and stalked off towards the apartment with a short "Stay here," issued to the both of them.

"You don't think that…" Rachel seemed unable to make herself finish the sentence, but her meaning was clear. Quinn leaned against the car, her hands trembling.

"I don't know," she whispered. "Puck's tough, he can handle himself in a fight."

Rachel nodded, her eyes locked on the door that Finn had just shoved his way through. She stepped to Quinn's side, arms wrapping around the taller girl's waist. Quinn shifted closer, her arms instinctively going around Rachel's shoulders and her forehead dropping down to rest atop Rachel's hair.

Neither of them moved—Quinn was unsure if she even breathed—until the door that Finn had disappeared through flew open and Finn dragged Puck out by the shirt. Quinn shuddered as she saw them both duck under a bottle that came flying out the door and hit the railing, shattering.

"Oh, God," Rachel practically whimpered. Her fingers tightened on Quinn's jacket. They stared as Finn followed Puck down the stairwell, then led him over to where they stood.

Quinn locked eyes with Puck, who looked unbelievably exhausted. She knew it was probably impossible for him to have become visibly thinner in less than two weeks, but he certainly looked it. There was stubble on his cheeks and the slightest shadow of a bruise on his jaw, and she clenched her jaw in anger.

Untangling herself from Rachel, she moved towards them, meeting him halfway across the parking lot. He broke their gaze, the muscles in his jaw working silently, and glared at some spot over her shoulder.

"Puck," she whispered. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he said shortly. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"

"Getting your dumb ass out of there, that's what," Finn said bluntly. He shoved Puck in the shoulder. "What the hell were you thinking, going to him?"

"He's family," Puck muttered, shoving Finn's hand off his shoulder. "I needed a break."

"So you came _here_?" Finn said incredulously. "Dude, seriously. What the hell?"

"What the hell do you care?" Puck snapped. He shoved Finn back. "Either of you. You," he jammed his finger into Finn's shoulder, pushing him back further. "Hate me for sleeping with your girlfriend. And _you_," he whirled on Quinn, who stubbornly held her ground. "Don't even care that we were going to have a _kid_ together and decided to go all lesbian instead of being with me. Explain to my why the _hell_ I would have come to either of you?"

"We're your friends," Quinn said softly.

"Bull," Puck snorted. "We were never friends and you know it." He was focused only on Quinn now, his eyes narrowed in anger.

"Maybe I'm not your friend," Quinn said. "But I consider you a friend. I know you think I hate you or something, but I really don't."

"But you'd rather completely forget that we had _anything_ and go jump in her bed," he said coldly.

"Hey," Finn said, stepping to Quinn's side defensively. "Out of line, dude. You're still my best friend, but don't think I won't punch you again."

Quinn reached out and pulled Finn back gently. "It's okay," she said. "I deserved that." She cut off his protests with a silently raised eyebrow. "Can you give us a minute?"

"Now?"

"Now."

He sighed. "Don't make me come break up a fight," he said. "Either of you." He eyed the both of them threateningly, arms crossed over his chest, before striding over to where Rachel stood wringing her hands.

"Puck," Quinn whispered. "Please let me explain, okay?"

"Explain what?" He glared at her, but seemed unable to muster any real anger. "The part where I always come in second place, or the part where you decided that being a dyke would be fun, or the part where I had to find out from _Santana_ and _Brittany_ at a meeting with the fucking glee club?"

"Please," she pleaded, stepping closer. "Puck, this isn't about you coming in second. You have to know that."

"Yeah, right."

Quinn took a deep breath, looking down at her feet to compose herself. "I was going to keep her," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I had a name picked out for her, and we were going to be a family, because I wanted her and I wanted you and I wanted all three of us together. But then—then we lost her." Her breath hitched in her throat, her eyes starting to burn, and she ashamedly scrubbed her hands over her eyes. Tears were shining in his own eyes.

"I had all these dreams for her," Quinn went on. She swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat. "She was going to have blonde hair like I do, but she was going to have your eyes. Every time I dreamed about her, she had your eyes, and you were always there looking out for her, because I knew you really would."

He was crying silently now, and Quinn wrapped her arms around herself to keep from grabbing onto him, holding onto him and holding him up as best she could. "I look in your eyes and I see her," she forced out. Her voice cracked, and the tears finally started to slip loose. "Every time I look at you, all I can see if her, and I feel like I'm going to drown and that I did everything wrong and she paid the price, and I hate myself."

"It's not your fault," he mumbled. "You know that."

"Maybe not," she said. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't feel like it is." She took a small step forward, a hand going out tentatively to rest on his forearm. He was trembling beneath her fingers.

"I wanted to be with you," she said softly. "A part of me still does. But I'm a disaster right now, and I can't do anything to make myself stop thinking about how much I screwed everything up. And for some reason, the only time anything makes sense, the only time I don't feel like I lost my daughter as some kind of retribution, is when she kisses me."

She hesitated as he tensed under her hand. "I'm sorry," she went on. "I didn't plan for this to happen. I thought that maybe—that maybe we had a chance. But after everything that happened, I just… I don't know if what I'm doing is right, but it's the only thing that doesn't feel wrong, you know?" She inhaled shakily. "And I really, really need that, more than anything right now."

He was silent for a long while, staring down to where her hand rested on his arm. Finally, he moved, shoving his hands into his pockets and squaring his shoulders.

"I can't be happy for you about being with her," he said slowly.

She nodded sadly, wrapping her arms around her stomach. Her shoulders slumped tiredly.

"Can we try to be friends?" she asked in a small voice. "I know you don't believe me right now, but I do care about you."

"I don't know," he said. The raw honesty in his voice hurt more than she expected it to. "I'm as jacked up by this as you are. I thought we could maybe get each other through it, but I guess that won't work if you can't look at me without hating yourself." The wounded tone to his voice brought a fresh wave of guilt rolling through Quinn's stomach, and she felt like she may vomit.

"It's not your fault," she said. "Please tell me you get that. It's not because of you, it's because—"

"I get it," he interrupted. "At least, I think I do. I don't like it, but I get it."

"Thank you," she whispered. Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers tracing over the faded bruise on his jaw. "I'm so sorry it came to this. I really wish you hadn't come here."

He shrugged. "I needed a place to stay."

"I'm sorry," she said again. She pulled her hand back slowly. "I didn't know they were going to tell everyone like that. They thought they were helping but it just didn't work out too well."

"You and Finn weren't in there," he said slowly. "You told him yourself."

Quinn flushed, looking down. "Yeah," she said.

He shook his head, laughing humorlessly. "He's always number one."

"I'm sorry," she repeated hoarsely. "I keep doing everything wrong, with you and with him, and I never know how to fix it."

"I'll live," he said. He pulled his car keys out of his pocket. "I'm going to go home." He paused, staring at her intently, and moved as if to kiss her cheek. Instead, he just rested his hand on her shoulder awkwardly for a moment before turning and walking to his truck. Quinn watched him walk away.

"Puck," she called suddenly. He paused, not turning around. "Will you be in school tomorrow?"

"Probably not," he said. She bit down on her lip, swallowing the reprimand she wanted to voice about him blowing off high school. "But I'll be there Monday. Tell Mr. Scheu I'll catch up on the set list over the weekend."

Quinn remained where she was, feet rooted to the cracked pavement in the middle of the parking lot, as he climbed into his truck and drove off. She didn't move when Finn paused next to her on his way to his car and rested a hand on her shoulder before driving off after Puck, and only uprooted her shoes when she felt Rachel's hand wrap around hers and pull her towards the car.

Halfway back to town, Rachel pulled the car over and parked, turning to face a silent Quinn. The blonde continued to stare silently out the window, taking in the heavy rainclouds that hung ominously above them.

"Quinn," Rachel said clearly. "Look at me, please."

"What?" Quinn asked, her voice dull. She slowly turned to look at Rachel, who was staring at her with appraising eyes.

"I need to ask you something," Rachel said. "I don't want to, but I would be remiss, as your friend more than anything, if I didn't."

Quinn stared blankly out the windshield. "It's going to rain," she commented.

"Quinn," Rachel said again. "Are you listening to me?"

"Kinda hard not to," Quinn sniped. Somewhere, between thoughts of the bruise on Puck's jaw and the frustration in his eyes and Sarah Noelle Puckerman, she knew she shouldn't snap at Rachel, but such thoughts were drowned out by guilt and frustration and sheer anger at the situation they were all in.

"I'll let the fact that you're being mean slide, as I know that you just had a very intense and emotional interaction with Noah," Rachel said. "Which is what I need to talk to you about."

"I don't want to talk about it," Quinn muttered.

"I need to ask," Rachel said again. She paused. "Would you rather be with him than me?"

Quinn turned slowly to look at her, eyebrows creeping towards her hairline. She stared at Rachel, who looked unusually nervous, for a long moment before scoffing disdainfully and shoving her way out of the car. She walked without aim, stalking off into the field they were parked next to. Grass that was still struggling to grow into spring swished at her ankles, and the first drops of rain dropped onto her shoulders.

She heard Rachel chasing after her, but refused to stop until she felt Rachel's hand wrap around her wrist, tugging her to a stop. She whirled around, eyes flashing as she glared down at Rachel.

"Why do you have to ask that?" she snarled. Though she knew that she looked and sounded like the person she had been a year ago, there was no comforting feeling of power and control accompanying her anger. Instead she felt like she did when she was still learning how to drive and, in the middle of a thunderstorm, the car hydroplaned and she had thought they were going to crash into a ditch as all four wheels momentarily skimmed over the water. "Why the hell would you ask me that, _now_?"

"Because it's a valid question," Rachel said desperately. "You didn't see yourself, Quinn. You looked like you wanted nothing more than to go with him and put him back together." The obvious pain in her voice did little to temper Quinn's growing anger.

"Of course I did!" she bellowed. "If I fix him then maybe there's a chance someone can fix _me_ and then I can be a real person again!" She stalked past Rachel, stomping back towards the road. Slowing to a stop beside the car, she dropped her arms atop the roof, her forehead falling down to rest on her arms as she took deep breaths, trying to reign in her temper.

She tensed when she felt Rachel's hand on her shoulder, clenching her teeth together around the air she'd just inhaled.

"I'm sorry," Rachel was saying slowly. "But I need to know." She paused, and Quinn realized that both of them were trembling. She heard Rachel take a deep breath before continuing, "Because if I need to get out of the way, I will."

Quinn spun around, moving quickly enough to startle herself and make Rachel jump unintentionally. She stared at Rachel incredulously, hands hanging limply at her sides. "How can you ask that?" she asked in a small voice.

Rachel stepped back in hesitantly, her entire body tense, as if she expected Quinn to attack her. "Because both of you are my friends," she said quietly. "Because you're my best friend, regardless of any romantic relationship we may have, and if he's what you want, what you need, then I don't want to get in the way of that."

"Christ, Berry, sometimes you're a complete moron," Quinn muttered, rolling her eyes. Before Rachel could respond—and Quinn could see the indignation rising in Rachel's eyes, her lips parting to protest—Quinn grabbed her wrist and yanked her around, pressing her against the car and kissing her with something that bordered on desperation. When she pulled back enough to inhale greedily, she felt lightheaded.

"How many times," she gasped out, still trying to find her breath. "Do I need to tell you that I'm _trying_?"

"I—" Rachel started, then stopped, staring up at Quinn with an unreadable expression in her dark eyes. Quinn stared back, locking eyes with her and challenging her to continue. Instead, Rachel surged forward and kissed her again, and again, and only pulled back when Quinn was practically falling against her and the air around them was growing heavy with the threat of rain, thunder rolling ominously and softly above them. Every rumble of the sky above her echoed in Quinn's chest, as if kissing Rachel carried the same volatile power of a thunderstorm.

"It's going to rain," Rachel mumbled. "We should go."

"Yeah, sure," Quinn said distractedly. Rachel looked up at her solemnly, her eyes far too solemn for someone who looked as thoroughly kissed as she did.

"You're sure?" The remainder of the question hung silently between them.

"I can't be with him," Quinn said. Her throat ached. "I can't even look at him without wanting to cry."

Rachel looked up at her with a pained look. "That's not what I'm asking," she said. Her words were clipped, her voice tight, and Quinn could tell that she was getting frustrated. "Why won't you give me a straight answer?"

"Because I don't have one!" Quinn shot back. She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you expect from me? In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of stuck in the middle of a huge existential crisis right now and you hammering me with questions is _not_ helping! You're not even asking me a straight question, anyways," she added petulantly.

"Fine," Rachel said, hands on her hips. She glared at Quinn defiantly, chin lifted. "Do you want to be with me? Is that a straightforward enough question for you, or should I draw a diagram?"

"Don't try to be a smartass with me," Quinn sneered. She took a step forward, using her height to her full advantage as she towered over Rachel and relished in the thrill of adrenaline when Rachel's confidence wavered visibly. "You've never been _nearly_ as good at it as I am."

"Then just _answer_ me," Rachel said in a small voice. "Please."

The adrenaline swooped out of Quinn's body as quickly as it had appeared, and her hands fell to her side lifelessly as she sighed. She slowly turned away from where Rachel stood, pushing her hands through her hair and staring out across the field she had been stomping across just minutes ago.

"I told you that I'm not easy," she said softly. Her voice was almost lost in the open air in front of her, so quiet that she could hardly tell if Rachel had heard her. "I told you."

Rachel appeared at her side, arms wrapped around herself as she stared out across the field as well. "I know that," she whispered. "I know you aren't."

"Then why do you keep pushing me?" Quinn asked. She turned tired eyes to stare at Rachel. "I don't know much of anything anymore. I don't know who I am or who I'm going to be, or who I even want to be. I don't know what I'm doing or if I'm handling anything properly. I don't know what I want or what I need or what I _should_ want." She took a slow, wavering breath, turning back to stare out in front of her. She could feel Rachel standing tensely beside her.

"When I was talking with Finn last week," she started slowly. "I told him that the only time I feel like things might be okay again is when you kiss me. And when I was talking to Puck just now, I told him that I didn't know if what I was doing with you was the right thing or not."

Rachel tensed even more beside her, and Quinn took a deep breath before shifting to face the brunette. She waited until Rachel turned to meet her eyes before continuing.

"But I also told him that even if I don't know if it's right, I know that it's the only thing that doesn't feel wrong." She reached out hesitantly, and counted it as a tiny victory when she took hold of one of Rachel's hands without Rachel jerking away. "It's like you're the only thing that's holding me together sometimes. I feel like someone broke me into all these little pieces and I'm trying so hard to track them all down and make them fit together, but nothing fits like it used to. And it's terrifying and it hurts and every time I find one piece, I feel like I'm losing my grip on another. But then you're there and you kiss me and you're there when I wake up from a nightmare, and even though I keep losing all of the pieces, you're like this safety net that catches all of them when I can't.

"It doesn't make sense," Quinn said. Rachel's eyes were wide and overbright, shining against the fading sunlight around them. "And I'm so scared that I only want you because you're like a life ring that's keeping me from drowning, that I'm going to hurt you like I hurt everyone else. But I'm more scared that if I try to do any of this without you, I'll lose everything."

She bit her lip, feeling her own fingers trembling against Rachel's. "Does that answer your question?"

Rachel nodded, looking as if she were torn between crying and laughing with relief; she seemed to settle on splitting the difference, as tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes as they crinkled up from a smile. She pulled Quinn closer, holding her tightly. Quinn wrapped her arms around Rachel's waist tightly, clinging to her as she took slow deep breaths in an attempt to keep from crying, the intensity and range of her emotions from the entire afternoon threatening to crash over her with all of the destructive power of a tidal wave.

"It's going to rain," Rachel murmured, her lips pressed against Quinn's hair. "And as romantic as it might be to stand here and kiss you in the rain, it's not summer yet and I don't want either of us to get sick."

Quinn giggled tiredly into Rachel's shoulder, her fingers gripping tighter to Rachel's sweater. "Just a few more minutes," she mumbled. "Please?"

"Okay," Rachel said softly. One hand ran slowly up and down Quinn's back.

When they finally moved back into the car, lightening was starting to flash across the sky, and Quinn had finally stopped trembling. She wrapped her hands around Rachel's right arm, pulling it onto the center console and pillowing her head comfortably on it, the fingers on her left hand tangling with Rachel's.

She was all but asleep by the time they made it back home.


	23. Chapter 23

When Puck returned to school, all dark circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks and a barely-there bruise on his jaw, no one had the courage to approach him about his reaction or absence. Mr. Scheu looked at a loss as to any of his anticipated words of wisdom, and the rest of the glee club hovered awkwardly around the room, as if torn between fear of him exploding and pity for his obvious heartache.

Quinn wasn't sure if she was surprised or not that it was Finn that stuck by Puck's side like glue throughout it all. There was some kind of sweet irony in it, really, that she was the one who drove them apart, who broke both their hearts, and it took her walking away from them yet again for their friendship to come back together. She watched, holding her place in his periphery with Rachel at her side and a dull pain in her stomach at how he now looked perpetually like the boy with sad eyes who she had let take her to bed, and hated how the rest of the club felt like they for some reason had to protect her and Rachel from Puck.

Really, Quinn thought bitterly, they needed to be watching out for Puck and Rachel and Finn; she had a nasty habit of stepping all over their hearts. But the part of her that had been so desperate for friendship and support and camaraderie just short months earlier quashed the bitter thoughts. She was unprepared to sacrifice their support, regardless of how misguided it was.

The days leading up to the AP exams—which fell a mere week before Regionals—slid by slowly, and perpetual uncertainty morphed into habit. Quinn fell into a routine, waking up early to go running with Finn in the mornings and making it back in time to shower before eating breakfast with a fresh-off-the-elliptical Rachel; at school, they staked out the rehearsal room during third period every day and ate lunch with the rest of the glee club. In the afternoons, what time wasn't taken up with rehearsals for Regionals was dedicated to studying, which at least twice a week resulted in an argument with Rachel, who would practice in her room while Quinn studying, distracting the blonde constantly from her work. Two evenings a week, Quinn would drive to her parents' house and have dinner, telling herself repeatedly that every painful silence between herself and her father would be worth it once they could finally reconcile; she came home to the Berry household each and every time and forewent studying for the rest of the night, opting instead to curl up in Rachel's bed and listen to the brunette sing until Quinn had drifted off to sleep.

The afternoon after Quinn's final AP exam—Rachel having had only one to worry about and having finished four days earlier, while Quinn panicked about the full day of economics that capped off her tests—she stretched out exhaustedly on a bench outside of the school, head pillowed on her arms and eyes shut behind her sunglasses in the warm sunlight as she waited for Rachel to come pick her up. The brunette was at home with a private vocal coach, still concerned about Regionals, and would be busy for another half an hour. Quinn basked in the solitude and the realization that she was all but done with school for the year; there were her class finals, but those would be cake compared to the AP exams, and the only other thing she had to concern herself with was Regionals.

The sound of her name being called drew her out of her relaxation, and she opened one eye behind her sunglasses—stolen from Rachel that morning—and looked around sleepily for who she assumed would be Rachel. Instead, she saw her sister standing in front of her, arms crossed and an amused look on her face.

"Devon," Quinn mumbled in surprise, bolting upright. "What are you doing here?"

"Good to see you, too, little sister," Devon said with a smirk. She pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head and dropped down next to Quinn, elbowing the younger blonde playfully. "I flew in this morning."

"Why?"

Devon shrugged. "Mom called me," she said simply. "She said you were stressing like mad and she was worried."

"You flew in from New Mexico because… Mom thinks I'm too stressed out?"

"Yep." Devon leaned back against the bench, crossing her arms casually. Her gaze softened slightly, and she bumped her shoulder against Quinn's. "She doesn't know what to do anymore," she said quietly. "They screwed up so badly, and she wants to fix it, but she doesn't know how, so I guess she's doing what she can without interfering."

"Interfering?" Quinn felt a headache coming in to press at her temples, her sister's words confusing her.

"Something like that. I guess she's come to terms with the fact that you're not going to move home, and that they can't ask you to."

"Dad wouldn't anyways," Quinn muttered. "He still hates me. He won't even talk to me when I'm there."

"Dad is…" Devon started. She sighed. "He's a jerk sometimes, but we always knew that. He sucks at acknowledging that he screwed up, and he screwed up majorly with this whole thing. I doubt he can even admit it to himself, much less anyone else."

Quinn grunted in agreement, slumping back next to Devon. "That still doesn't explain why you're here."

"I took a few weeks off from work," Devon said cheerfully. "I'm kidnapping you for the weekend and we're going to go to Columbus, and then I'm going to go with you to your singing thingy and absolutely embarrass you with a really big cardboard sign."

"You're _what_?"

Devon laughed, elbowing her once more. "Relax, kiddo," she said. "I'll leave the sign out of it. But you're not getting out of the Columbus weekend, and I'm definitely coming to this competition. I mean, come on. I always knew you could sing but I never thought you'd end up doing it for a prize. Which," she added. "I'm still pissed at you for not telling me about, by the way."

Quinn winced internally, her sister's light tone betrayed by the solemn look in her eyes. It was clear that Devon was referring to far more than just Quinn's participation in glee. "I know," she mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"I got over it," Devon said brightly. She jumped up from the bench and dragged Quinn up next to her, looping their arms together. "Now come on, little sister. We have packing to do."

"But Rachel—"

"Ah, yes, Rachel," Devon said. "How is the illustrious future Broadway star?"

"She's good," Quinn said, praying that the flush she felt in her cheeks wasn't visible. "But we were going to do something Saturday."

"Take a rain check," Devon said. She pushed Quinn into the passenger seat of her car. "Tell her I'm in town and you can't say no to me because I can still put you in a headlock."

"That was _one time_ and I totally won the next fight," Quinn muttered. "And _you_ tell her," she added childishly. "I'm not going to be the one that cancels on one of Rachel Berry's big planned weekends."

"Coward," Devon sang out. "But okay. I'll tell her."

The drive to the Berry household passed quickly, filled with Devon shooting questions at Quinn about her AP exams and Regionals, and Quinn marveling at how uncannily similar to Rachel her sister seemed. They pulled into the driveway just as Rachel was walking out the front door with her keys in hand; the brunette stopped mid-stride with a puzzled look on her face as Quinn stepped out of Devon's car.

"What are you doing here?" she asked confusedly.

"I kidnapped her," Devon said, popping up on the other side of the car. "Hey, Rachel."

"Devon? What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm in town for a few weeks," Devon said. "And I'm stealing Q here for the weekend and some sisterly bonding time. Hope that's cool."

Quinn winced at her sister's flippant announcement and the fleeting wounded look in Rachel's eyes.

"Of course!" Rachel said brightly, a wide smile on her lips. "That sounds lovely."

"See?" Devon said. She stuck her tongue out at Quinn. "It sounds lovely."

Quinn made a face at her sister, who rolled her eyes in return and started typing out a text message on her phone, before snatching her backpack out of the car and jogging up to where Rachel was almost into the house. "Rach," she said softly, grabbing Rachel's hand. "I'm sorry, I had no idea she was going to show up—"

"It's okay," Rachel said. She offered what Quinn assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile, but it wavered.

"No, I know you had plans for us this weekend," Quinn said. "Really, she's here through Regionals, I can get her to put this off until after that."

"You don't have to do that," Rachel said. She squeezed Quinn's hand. "We can hang out after Regionals."

"Maybe I wanted to spend the weekend with you," Quinn mumbled petulantly. Her annoyance with the entire situation slipped to the background at the sudden shift in Rachel's demeanor at her words. She could never have guessed that such a simple statement would cause Rachel to look rather like she had just won an Oscar, but somehow it did, and Quinn could hardly keep herself from smiling shyly in return.

Rachel squeezed her hand again, her thumb tracing over the back of Quinn's hand briefly. "It's really okay," she said reassuringly. "I can reorganize my plans for another weekend, and you go have fun with your sister. You know that I think it's good for you to reconnect with your family."

"Are you sure?" Quinn said, uncertainty bringing a waver to her voice.

"Absolutely," Rachel said. "But I'm reserving the right to throw a tantrum if my plans get nixed next time."

"Noted," Quinn said softly. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Devon with her back to them as she spoke to someone on her phone, and quickly leaned in to press a brief kiss to Rachel's lips. "Plans will not be nixed."

Rachel smiled affectionately up at Quinn, squeezing Quinn's hand once more before clearing her throat loudly. "Let's go get you packed up," she said, her voice loud enough that Devon could hear. "I would hate to postpone your plans with your sister."

Quinn made a face, but allowed Rachel to pull her towards the door. "You just want to go upstairs and make out in my room, don't you?" she muttered as she obediently followed Rachel, her body trailing after the hand that Rachel was pulling along behind her.

"Perhaps," Rachel said lightly. "But also, theoretically, the sooner you leave, the sooner you can get back."

"I really don't think it works that way," Quinn said. "But fine. If you say so."

Half an hour and ten minutes of hasty packing later, Quinn followed Rachel down the stairs to the living room, an overnight bag hanging from one shoulder. Devon sat with Rachel's father Eric in the living room, entertaining him with a story about her honeymoon that Quinn had heard at least half a dozen times.

Quinn dropped down next to her sister, letting her bag fall to the floor in front of her, as Eric commented on Devon's story. Rachel squeezed in between Quinn and the arm of the couch, and Quinn felt a flood of warmth spreading from her chest when Rachel's hand rested comfortingly on her lower back, hidden from view.

"So, little sister," Devon said suddenly. She turned to face Quinn. "Ready to be kidnapped?"

"Ecstatic," Quinn said blandly.

"I'm sure it will be a wonderful weekend," Rachel said. Her thumb slid back and forth reassuringly over Quinn's t-shirt, and Quinn bit her lip to keep from smiling. "What do you have planned, Devon?"

"Oh, you know, girly things," Devon said flippantly. "Spa time, shopping, junk food, going to movies to ogle at Gerard Butler." She offered a triumphant grin to Quinn when both Rachel and Eric nodded approvingly at the latter portion of her comment.

"That sounds fantastic," Rachel said. "You're going to have loads of fun."

"That's the plan," Devon said. She hopped up from the couch and grabbed Quinn's bag with one hand, reaching out for Quinn with the other. "Chop chop, little sister. Lots to do and so very little time to do it."

"Yes ma'am," Quinn said automatically, reluctantly letting herself be pulled up and away from the comforting weight of Rachel's presence at her side. "I would hate to make us late for you mandatory fun." She squeaked when Devon swatted one of her shoulders and Rachel, who had apparently stood up as Quinn did, smacked the other. "Ow!"

"Behave," Rachel said warningly, her tone betrayed by the spark of laughter in her eyes that Quinn had grown accustomed to seeking out.

"I knew I liked this kid," Devon said. She held her hand out for Rachel to high-five; the brunette blinked and stared at her for a short but awkward moment before flashing her bright grin and slapping her palm against Devon's.

"Right then," Devon said. She shouldered Quinn's bag. "Rachel, Eric, it was great seeing you again. I promise to bring her back in one piece." She shook Eric's hand briefly and directed a comical salute at Rachel before slinging her free arm around Quinn's shoulders. "Off we go, kiddo."

"Yay," Quinn deadpanned. She waved to Eric, shot a desperate look at Rachel, and let herself be steered out to Devon's car.

By the time they made it to Columbus, Quinn was sure that they had run out of things to talk about. She and Devon, while always getting along quite well, had nevertheless been too far apart in age to ever be terribly close. Once they had covered school—which centered around the fact that Quinn's mother and Devon both felt that she had taken far too many AP classes, with a brief segue into what colleges Quinn was considering and Devon being offended that Brown was left off the list—and glee—which centered around Regionals and the songs they would be performing—Quinn was at a loss for anything else to talk about.

Thankfully, Devon let the conversation die down, and instead made disparaging comments about the music on the radio until Quinn, with an exaggerated eye roll, plugged her iPod in. Singing along to the Ronettes carried them the rest of the way to the hotel, where Quinn followed Devon quietly up to their room in the Holiday Inn and collapsed tiredly onto one of the beds, an arm over her eyes.

"Please tell me you don't have any big plans for tonight," she said tiredly. "I'm so tired."

"Don't worry," Devon said. Quinn smirked when she heard a poorly-concealed yawn. "I'm beat, too. I did fly in this morning, you know."

"Right," Quinn said. She didn't even bother trying to hold in her own yawn. "So… sleep?"

"Sleep," Devon agreed.

Quinn grumbled contentedly and shimmied around on the bed so she could drop her head onto one of the pillows. She heard the telling sounds of Devon digging through her suitcase and brushing her teeth in the bathroom, and was almost completely asleep when she felt her shoes come off and the comforter from the bed fold up around her.

She bolted awake just after five the next morning, her heart slamming against her chest and lungs burning, the image of a blonde toddler fading from the back of her eyelids. Automatically, Quinn reached out for where Rachel would normally be, stirring awake and pulling Quinn back down and holding her until she could return to sleep; instead, there was only the scratchy material of a hotel comforter and the sound of the air conditioner that was blasting cold air.

Gasping for breath, torn between being quiet and finding oxygen, Quinn looked over to the other bed. Devon lay with her back to Quinn, her breathing slow and steady. Silently, Quinn untangled herself from the comforter and tiptoed to the bathroom, pausing to pull her phone out of her bag.

Sitting on the floor next to the bathtub, Quinn numbly hit the redial on her phone, holding it up to her ear with trembling fingers. After the fourth ring, she was sure that Rachel wouldn't pick up, and was about to end the call after the sixth when a sleepy greeting floated into her ear.

"Hi," she whispered. Her voice was gravelly from sleep. "I know it's early, I'm sorry—"

"It's fine," Rachel said. Her voice was as raspy as Quinn's own, and Quinn heard shuffling in the background as Rachel sat up. "Are you okay?"

"Yes?"

"You're not even attempting to lie well," Rachel said bluntly. "Besides, why else would you call me at 5:06 on a Saturday morning?"

"Maybe I missed you?" Quinn said. Banter was familiar, comforting, simple; if she couldn't have Rachel there to calm her down, she could at least find some solace in talking with her.

"Perhaps," Rachel said slowly, as if mulling it over. "I do have a multitude of extremely likable qualities, any one of which would be easy to miss."

"Your humility is definitely at the top of the list," Quinn said sardonically. A faint smile tugged at her lips.

"Second only to my modesty, I'm sure," Rachel said. She sighed exaggeratedly. "What can I say? I'm just fabulous all around."

Quinn opened her mouth to reply, content to sit on the hard floor of the bathroom and chat lightheartedly until her heart slowed down, but her voice caught in her throat. She swallowed audibly, biting down on her lip to reign in the lump she felt growing in her throat.

"You had a nightmare," Rachel said softly. There was no questioning in her tone.

"Yeah," Quinn whispered. She pulled her knees up to her chest, pushing herself into the corner formed by the bathtub and the wall. The sound of Rachel's weary sigh floated over the phone, and Quinn bit down on her lip, determined not to cry.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said. "I wish I could help."

"You are," Quinn mumbled. "Just… can we just talk for a while? It's kind of like you're here if we do."

"Of course," Rachel said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know," Quinn said. "Anything?" She regretted the last word as soon as it was out of her mouth, but it was too late to rescind it, as Rachel immediately launched into a description of her vocal lesson that day.

Swallowing a sigh, Quinn relaxed, curled up in the corner on the floor in the bathroom, and let her head rest against the wall behind her as she listened to Rachel talk. The words blended together in her ears, melding into a soft hum, and Quinn's heart slowly returned to normal, her breathing slowing down and eyes fluttering shut.

"Quinn?" The sound of her name over the phone pulled her back from falling into sleep once more. "Are you asleep?"

"Yes," Quinn mumbled.

"Clearly, you're not," Rachel said. Even half-asleep, Quinn could all but hear a smile in her voice. "Do you think you can get back to sleep now?"

"Probably," Quinn said through a yawn.

"I'm not trying to hang up on you," Rachel said hurriedly. "I'm perfectly okay with staying up and talking to you until you can sleep, but if you can sleep now I—"

"I'm good, Rach," Quinn said. "Honest."

"Okay," Rachel said softly. "Are you okay?"

"More or less." Quinn sat up slightly, wincing at the pain in her neck—between spending all day with her head bent over exams and almost an hour folded up into a corner with her head resting against the bathtub, it would be a wonder if her spine wasn't permanently convoluted.

"You know, if you really don't want to stay in Columbus, we can probably think up a way to get you out of it," Rachel offered. "It wouldn't be hard to convince Mr. Scheuster that we need to practice all weekend."

Quinn smiled sleepily as Rachel continued to ramble on about how beneficial it would be for the club if they actually did practice all weekend. She shifted into a more comfortable position, pillowing her head on her arm atop the rim of the bathtub, and listened to the sound of Rachel's voice echoing in her ear.

The next time Rachel asked if she was awake, she murmured something unintelligible, too exhausted and too close to sleep to be coherent.

"Sleep well, Q," Rachel said softly.

"You, too," Quinn mumbled. "Thanks, love." The words were barely past her lips before she succumbed to her exhaustion, falling asleep slumped against the bathtub at 6:30 on a Saturday morning.

She woke to Devon shaking her shoulder, an amused look in her eyes. "Come on, munchkin," Devon said, prodding Quinn's shoulder gently. "Wakey wakey."

"Don't call me that," Quinn muttered. She cracked one eye open and let Devon pull her into an upright position, clenching her teeth when a stab of pain shot from the base of her skull all the way down her spine. "Ow," she whimpered.

"Well, that's what happens when you sleep in the bathroom," Devon said. Her mocking tone contrasted with the gentle touch of her hands as she helped Quinn stand up. The phone still in Quinn's hand beeped weakly, and Quinn squinted down at it to see the battery icon flashing indignantly at her, all of the indicator bars absent.

Quinn stared at her phone blankly for long seconds, unaware of Devon looking at her with unmasked concern, and wondered how long Rachel had talked to her until she'd fallen asleep. She unthinkingly glanced at her watch, eyebrows twitching at the realization that it was almost noon.

"Okay," Devon said brightly. "How's about we both grab some showers, and then we can go find some breakfast? I'm starving."

"Okay," Quinn echoed tiredly. She shook her head and shuffled out of the bathroom to find her bag, pushing her hair back gingerly. The bathroom door shut behind her, and she heard the water start as she dragged her bag up onto the bed and dug through it in search for her phone charger.

Her own too-short shower did little to work out the kinks in her back and neck, but Quinn regardless felt considerably better as she followed Devon down to the hotel restaurant. She was quiet as Devon convinced the waiter that it was in his best interest to let them order breakfast food even though it was late, and simply fiddled with the straw in her water.

"So," Devon said slowly after the waiter had stalked off with two orders for eggs and bacon in his hand. She propped her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hand and staring at Quinn appraisingly. It felt uncannily similar to how everyone at school had looked at Quinn when she returned from the hospital, and she felt herself flushing under the scrutiny.

"What?" she said snarkily.

"Well," Devon said. "We've got lots to talk about, little sister."

"We do?"

"Duh," Devon said, but her tone was gentle. "I know you're not talking to Mom about it, and knowing you there's no way you're talking to a counselor about it."

"About what?" Quinn wondered if she could really manage to play dumb, but doubted it; Devon knew her far too well for it to work.

"About the miscarriage," Devon said softly. The straw that Quinn was fidgeting with slipped from her fingers, dropping silently to the cheap white tablecloth, and the hand that hadn't been playing with it clenched into a fist.

"I'm fine," Quinn said. "I'm dealing with it."

"No, you're not," Devon said. "You're very determined _not_ to deal with it."

"That's crap," Quinn muttered. "Just because I'm not talking to Mom or you or a counselor doesn't mean I'm not dealing with it."

"Well, what are you doing to deal with it, then?" Devon stared at her, and Quinn fought the urge to wither under the piercing stare of brown eyes so painfully similar to their father's.

"I work through things on my own," Quinn said stubbornly. "I always have."

"Quinn, I get the whole pride and stubbornness thing. Really, I do. But that doesn't mean that it's the best way to handle things, or that it's going to work _at all_ in this case. You shouldn't be working through this alone."

"And, what, I should be working through it with you and Mom and Dad?" Quinn felt anger rising, the edges of agitation shoving away her exhaustion and the lingering pain in her neck. "They threw me out, Devon! I had nowhere to go, and they put me out on the street all because I was sixteen and I made a mistake."

"I know," Devon said. "I know they screwed up, so badly. They shouldn't have done that."

"No kidding," Quinn muttered. She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes flashing as she sat up straighter in her seat. "Look, I get that you're here because Mom's feeling guilty and you guys want to help fix me. But I am dealing with this the same way I dealt with being pregnant. _Without_ them."

"I know you're angry," Devon said delicately. "But, Quinn, please. You don't need to do this alone."

"What makes you think I'm doing it alone?" Quinn snapped. "I have friends, you know. Santana and Brittany have been my best friends since we were in the second grade. I have Finn and Mercedes and Tina and Artie. I have _Rachel_ and her dads. Just because my blood relatives threw me out like trash doesn't mean I don't have a family to help me through this."

Devon looked at a loss for words, sitting back with her lips pursed as the waiter brought their food out and refilled their coffee mugs. Quinn determinedly ignored her sister's expression and picked at her scrambled eggs listlessly. They ate slowly and silently, Quinn not moving her gaze from her food and Devon shooting sad looks Quinn's way every few minutes.

Back in the room, Quinn made a beeline for her phone, which she had left on the charger while they went to eat. There was a text from Finn about a rain check for the runs she'd miss, one from Tina making a smartass comment about Mr. Scheu's lame choreographic abilities, and one from Santana's phone that was bubbly and cheerful enough in wishing her a happy weekend that it probably came from Brittany.

Devon sat on the edge of her bed, hands in her lap, and looked at Quinn solemnly. "Can I ask you something?" she asked delicately.

"I'm sure you can," Quinn muttered.

Devon sighed. "I may be totally off base here, and I'm sure you'll feel free to yell at me if I am," she started. "But I just have this feeling."

"Uh huh," Quinn said distractedly as she typed out a text message to Finn promising to make up for missing their runs.

Devon rolled her eyes and stood up, crossing to where Quinn stood and snatching the phone out of her hand.

"Hey!" Quinn grabbed for the phone, but Devon had a good three inches on her and simply held the phone up over her head. "What are you, twelve years old?"

"If I am, then that makes you four, you know," Devon snarked. She dodged one of Quinn's attempts to grab the phone. "Seriously, Q, you look like a moron. You'll get your stupid phone back in a minute."

Quinn glared at her darkly, but halted her attempts and crossed her arms. "Okay, what?"

Devon took a deep breath. "What's going on with you and Rachel?"

"_What_?"

"I'm not blind," Devon said carefully. "And I'm not deaf, either, and I always was a light sleeper. You think I didn't hear you get up this morning, or hear you talking to her?"

Quinn flushed deeply, fighting to keep her chin from dropping ashamedly. That she had come to terms with the fact that there would be plenty of people who would disapprove of the nature of her relationship with Rachel hardly meant that she was at all keen about talking to her older sister about it, especially as her sister had been reared in the same household as Quinn.

"Look, Quinn," Devon said. Her shoulders slumped tiredly, and she suddenly looked impossibly older. "If you're, I don't know, _with_ her or whatever, it's cool with me. I know you probably think I'd react to it just like Mom and Dad reacted to you being pregnant, but I'm not like that. I don't think that God is going to hate anyone for who they care about, and it would be stupid for anyone to assume that they know what He would think of it anyways." She handed Quinn's phone back to the younger blonde, who was staring at her, dumbstruck.

"I just want to know, okay?" Devon said quietly. "I hate that you kept me in the dark about being pregnant and Mom and Dad kicking you out. You have to know that I would've taken care of you, but you didn't tell me. I hate that I couldn't help you then, so I want to make sure you know that if you need me, I'm here now."

She sat down heavily on the bed, staring at Quinn blankly. Quinn, feeling utterly poleaxed at Devon's proclamation, sat gingerly down next to her.

"I thought… I mean, I guess I thought that…" She could hardly organize her thoughts enough for them to make sense to her, much less form a coherent sentence.

"I know," Devon said. She reached over and grasped Quinn's hand gently. "And I know why you'd think that. I mean, I was you in high school, we both know that. Celibacy Club, Chastity Ball, Christ Crusaders, the whole shebang. But… I don't know. I guess it took me a little longer than you to figure out that everyone else's relationship to God is personal, just like mine, and it's not mine to judge." She smiled crookedly and bumped her shoulder against Quinn's.

"Also, Paul?" she added, naming her husband's youngest brother. "Is like the gayest gay boy since the existence of gay. Honestly, that boy is the biggest cliché I've ever met."

Quinn snorted, the tension that had taken up residence in her body since they sat down at the restaurant washing away, and she leaned against Devon's shoulder. "Thank you," she mumbled.

Devon wrapped an arm around her shoulder, squeezing her gently. "Of course," she said. "You're my baby sister. It's my job."

Quinn burrowed deeper into Devon's side, her heart thumping painfully at the realization that she had just admitted to her sister that she was in a relationship with Rachel, and that she hadn't been disowned.

"So," Devon said eventually. "What _is_ going on with you and Rachel?"

Quinn blushed, biting her lip and absolutely at a loss as to what to say. "I… I don't know how to describe it," she said slowly. "I guess we're dating?"

"Dating," Devon scoffed. "Quinn, she told you to _behave_. And you listened! You don't listen to anybody."

"That's not true," Quinn said stubbornly.

"When you were eight, Mom told you not to use the tire swing until Dad fixed the rope, and you broke your arm because the rope broke when you were fifteen feet in the air."

"I was a kid!"

"Yes, but it's a precedent," Devon said. She smirked triumphantly. "Seriously, though. I may totally off base, but there's more to it than just _dating_, I think."

"I guess," Quinn said slowly. She and Rachel had never succinctly defined their relationship, explaining it only to their friends as them being together and that was that. Only a handful of people—Finn and Puck and Brittany and Santana—knew exactly how or why they were together, but terms like "girlfriend" or "relationship" had never been broached.

Quinn depended on Rachel far more than she knew she should or wanted to, the smaller girl like a life raft whenever Quinn felt like she was losing control. Yet even on her good days, when there were no nightmares or panic attacks or moments of self-loathing, she found her highlights in the moments where she shared counter space with Rachel in the kitchen while they cooked dinner, or listening to Rachel practice for and record her nightly Myspace performance, or when they met up in the rehearsal room during third period to do anything from study to make out to nap. Rachel was the only one who could silence the myriad of painful thoughts that sometimes threatened to overwhelm Quinn, but Quinn felt far more invested in the entirety of their relationship than in just Rachel's ability to hold her together.

"I don't know how to define it," she said finally. "We're together. It started because she was the only thing that could keep me from falling apart sometimes, but… I don't know. It means more than that now, I think."

"How long?" Devon regarded her with level eyes, head cocked to the side barely.

Quinn shrugged. "Four or five weeks now, I guess."

Devon nodded absently, fiddling with her wedding ring. "And she helps you? With—with everything that's happened?"

"Yeah," Quinn whispered. "She does."

"Well, okay, then," Devon said. She flashed a wide smile at Quinn before standing up and stretching. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, I'm dying to go get some shopping done. What do you say?"

"Sure," Quinn said demurely, a shy smile gracing her lips. Perhaps this weekend wouldn't be so bad after all.

At four AM the next morning, when she once again found herself curled up in the bathroom—she'd remembered to drag a pillow in with her, at least—listening to Rachel sing softly to her until she drifted off to sleep once more, Quinn still found herself wishing to be home already, despite a pleasant afternoon of shopping and a spa treatment with Devon. And when they made it back to Lima and the Berry house, she sighed happily when she dropped down onto her bed with her overnight bag and Rachel appeared suddenly beside her, kissing her heavily before dragging Quinn back downstairs to where Rachel's parents had prepared a dinner for all five of them.

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Author's Note: Guys, pre-AN, this chapter was _exactly_ 6,000 words. _Exactly._ How baller is that?

(Extremely, would be the answer.)


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note: **GUYS. Someone, for some reason beyond me, nominated this story at Glee Awards 2010 over at Livejournal for Best Work-in-Progress. Which is kind of awesome and kind of insane, seeing as this is like... my hobby for when I'm injured and bedridden (which, admittedly, is way more than I'd like to admit) and really never expected anyone to read it. So that's kind of awesome and I thank you, whoever you are. I would give you a cookie if I could. Or a beer. Wine, if that's your preference. Or a flower, if you like neither cookies nor alcoholic beverages.

* * *

The day before the glee club was set to leave for Regionals—the bus would be pulling out of the school parking lot at eight Friday morning for the six hour drive to kick off the long weekend, Principal Figgins having excused them all from classes for the day—Quinn found herself torn between wanting to lock herself in her room to hide from Rachel's manic behavior and grabbing the smaller girl to shake her until she calmed down, a persistent headache pressing behind her eyes. Rachel was racing around the house, double and triple checking to make sure she had all of her costumes, obsessively unpacking and re-packing the bag that she was stowing her iPod and sheet music and meticulously-kept notes in, and shrilly demanding that Quinn do the same for her own luggage.

"Rachel!" Quinn shouted finally, after Rachel had burst into Quinn's room babbling about Quinn needing to make sure she had a spare set of shoes for each number they would perform. "Heel!"

Rachel froze in her tracks, halfway between the door and Quinn's closet, her hands still outstretched to snatch up pairs of shoes, and stared at Quinn momentarily. "I'm not a dog," she said indignantly.

"Really?" Quinn said sardonically. "Because you're acting very much like my aunt's Yorkie does after a really long nap."

"Now, Quinn," Rachel said, her hands coming to rest on her waist, one hip canting out to match the positively saucy look in her eyes. "While I maintain that I am very definitely _not_ at all dog-like in my behaviors, I'm offended that you would choose to compare me to a _Yorkie_. That's just unnecessarily mean."

Quinn smirked. "Next time we have a competition, I'm breaking out the video camera beforehand."

"You're not allowed near any of the media equipment, remember?" Rachel countered Quinn's smirk with one of her own before continuing towards the closet. "Seeing as you almost killed Daddy's blueray player."

"Step away from the closet!" Quinn said sharply. She leapt athletically off the bed, vaulting over the small pile of luggage sitting on her floor and landing neatly on the other side of her small room. She grabbed Rachel around the waist, tugging her back from the closet. Rachel squealed, ticklish as always, and fought valiantly to grab the closest pair of shoes; she was no match for a taller and stronger Quinn, though, and the blonde simply tightened one arm around Rachel's waist and pinned her arms down with the other easily.

"That's cheating," Rachel said sulkily.

"Rach, I don't need to take three extra pairs of shoes," Quinn said.

"What if you lose a pair on the road?" Rachel demanded. "Or you break a shoelace, or step in a muddy puddle, or Finn drops a hot dog _again _and the ketchup stains them?"

"We'll improvise," Quinn said. She inhaled slowly, the top of Rachel's head just below her chin and smelling annoyingly wonderful.

"Are you…. Smelling my hair?" Rachel spoke slowly, as if Quinn were either a child or a psychopath.

"Your shampoo smells like oranges," Quinn mumbled. "I like oranges."

"Quinn, you hate oranges. You think they feel like brains."

"Yeah, but I really like orange juice," Quinn said defensively. She felt Rachel tremble from holding in a laugh, and tightened her arms around her in response. "Don't laugh at me," she said plaintively.

"You're ridiculous," Rachel muttered, and Quinn could almost feel her rolling her eyes. Quinn grumbled incoherently, loosening her arms. Rachel spun around dizzily quickly, looking up at Quinn with a glaringly bright smile. "But ridiculous is okay," she added. She bounced up on her toes to kiss Quinn quickly, before darting away and snatching up a pair of black Converse hi-tops.

"Rachel!" Quinn ground out. "I already have a pair of the low-tops packed."

"But—"

"No."

"What if—"

"_No_."

"Even—"

"Not. Happening." Quinn tugged the shoes out of Rachel's hands and tossed them towards the closet.

"You're mean," Rachel muttered. She crossed her arms impishly. "You know, I just want to ensure that as many variables are eliminated from this weekend as possible. We're going up against the best club in the _country_, you know, and while I feel that we certainly have a shot based on talent, we remain a significant underdog and I would hate for something like mismatched shoes to adversely affect our scoring potential."

"Right," Quinn said slowly. She blinked once, then shook her head and made her way back to stretch out on her bed and retrieve the book she'd been reading when Rachel barged in. "Okay. If you think it's that big a deal, take as many pairs of shoes as you want. But just so you know," she added quickly, as soon as Rachel's eyes lit up in victory. "One, if you want to take them, they're going in _your_ luggage. And two, I am _not _carrying said luggage for you."

"Fine, fine," Rachel mumbled. She already had the pair of Converse back in her hands, and was scanning through Quinn's closet intently. "Where are your black ballet flats?"

"Already packed," Quinn said, not looking up from her book. "And before you ask, yes, I only have one pair."

Rachel made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat, and Quinn lifted her book a little higher to hide the indulgent smile tugging at her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Rachel pick up a pair of yellow sandals and wedge them under her arm.

"What about your white slingbacks?"

Quinn blinked confusedly. "Okay, not only are those not even similar to _any_ of the shoes we'll be wearing for any of the numbers, but I also can't do half of the choreography in them. Brittany's the only person who can dance in those kinds of shoes. I'd totally break my ankle."

Rachel hummed distractedly, half of her body hidden in the closet. "Yeah, okay. Oh, there they are!" She lofted the shoes over her head victoriously, holding them delicately out from her body as she extracted herself from the closet.

Quinn stared at her, the book in her hands forgotten. "You're completely off your nut," she muttered affectionately. "Absolutely bonkers."

"Whatever you say," Rachel said brightly. She juggled the three pairs of shoes into one hand—Quinn smirked when Rachel groaned in frustration and ended up tossing the yellow sandals back into the closet before smiling widely once more— and flitted across the room to Quinn's bed, leaning down and pressing a brief kiss to her lips. Quinn leaned into the kiss without even meaning to, and made a disappointed noise when Rachel pulled away, flashed a smile at her, and danced out of the room with Quinn's shoes.

Disgruntled, Quinn tried to return her attentions to her book, but Rachel's intrusion remained a distraction even when the brunette could now be heard shuffling her luggage around in her own room. Quinn struggled with her own self-control for what felt like an eternity before she tossed her book down and leapt off the bed once more.

She strode across the hall, slipping in through Rachel's open door and shutting it behind her quietly. Rachel, singing softly to herself and attempting to cram Quinn's shoes into her bag, had her back to the door when Quinn came in, and glanced over her shoulder briefly at the sound of the door clicking shut.

"Come to help me?" she asked. "I could use some assistance getting this zipper shut."

"Not exactly," Quinn murmured. She flushed inadvertently, and wondered if there was a tactful way to verbalize the fact that she'd abandoned her reading so she could spend the next hour and a half before Rachel's parents returned making out with her.

Things had been strangely comfortable between them since Quinn's weekend with Devon. Quinn had yet to mention to Rachel the details of any of her conversations with her sister, electing instead to keep quiet and try to sort through the jumbled tangle of emotions that had been exposed. Neither her behavior, nor Rachel's, had shifted in the past week—they still bickered about tastes in movies and Rachel practicing too much and Quinn running too much, and Rachel still talked Quinn through her nightmares and panic attacks, and Quinn had unconsciously stepped into a fiercely protective role of the brunette whenever anyone spoke up against her—but Quinn felt almost lighter about it all, as if something she had been holding onto had been holding her back and she had finally disentangled herself from it.

And apparently, as she was learning, part of the wonderfully lighthearted feeling was her wanting to kiss Rachel, even when she wasn't desperate for something to shut off the overwhelming stress in her mind; really, she wanted to kiss Rachel almost all the time, and it was horribly distracting. The headache she'd been struggling with for hours was gone, banished by the lighthearted exchange in her room moments earlier, and the prospect of kissing Rachel instead of reading suddenly seemed like the greatest idea ever.

"And really, there's nothing wrong with being prepared, you know." Rachel was rambling on, her focus on the suitcase in front of her and her back to Quinn, oblivious to Quinn's considerations.

"Uh huh," Quinn said absently. "Rachel, stop talking."

Rachel turned around slowly, staring at Quinn quizzically. She was normally the one barking out orders, constantly attempting to direct Quinn and the rest of the glee club, or talking Quinn down from a panic attack, or even trying to keep her from breaking the more expensive electronics in the house, as Quinn had proved worryingly adept at doing.

Eyebrows furrowed, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Quinn, fidgeting as she waited. "Yes?" she said impatiently. "You know, if you really think it's that ridiculous for me to be prepared, you should just say so directly. Indirect mockery is unnecessary. I'm aware that I tend to—"

"That's not it," Quinn mumbled. "That's kind of cute." She blushed deeper at the slow smile that appeared on Rachel's face at the words. "It's just… your dads will be home at eight."

"I'm aware," Rachel said, her brow creasing in confusion.

Quinn bit her lip, wishing that she could either tactfully admit to wanting to kiss Rachel senseless, or that she could at least be less embarrassed about her lack of tact. Instead, she crossed the room silently to stand in front of Rachel and leaned down to kiss her.

"Oh," Rachel said slowly when she pulled away. She smirked. "You know, you could have just said something." Her arms, suddenly no longer crossed over her chest, wrapped loosely around Quinn's neck and pulled her closer.

"Yeah, sure," Quinn muttered. "When you find a subtle way to say 'hi, let's make out', let me know." She gladly let Rachel pull her in for a kiss.

"Subtlety is overrated," Rachel breathed out. She stepped back blindly, one hand shoving her half-closed suitcase out of the way before she sat down clumsily, pulling Quinn with her.

"Come on," Quinn said breathlessly when Rachel moved to kiss her neck. "I'm all about subtlety. It's what I do best."

"Quinn, stop talking," Rachel said crossly.

"Yes ma'am," Quinn said. She smirked when Rachel rolled her eyes at the moniker and let herself be pulled in for another kiss.

An hour later, the sound of the garage door opening pulled them apart. Quinn mumbled discontentedly as she flopped back on Rachel's bed, cheeks flushed and hair in disarray. Rachel giggled flirtatiously and bounced off of the bed, making her way over to the mirror to straighten her own hair and clothes.

"Well," Quinn said breathlessly. "I don't know about you, but I'm feeling better than I was an hour ago. I seriously needed that."

Rachel was silent for a long few seconds and Quinn, still trying to level out her heartbeat, was too focused on her own breathing to notice.

"Daddy said that he was going to try his hand at grilling some steaks," Rachel said suddenly, eying Quinn in the mirror. In the months since Quinn had moved in with them, insisting on earning her keep by way of laundry and cooking, Rachel's parents had both taken to experimenting in the kitchen under Quinn's guidance. Quinn had never thought that the cooking classes her mother had forced her and Devon into at church would come in handy so soon, but had found herself enjoying passing on the knowledge to the Misters Berry.

"That's going to be interesting," Quinn responded. She pushed herself to a sitting position and made a face when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. "Has that grill ever even been used?"

"I think my uncle made some hot dogs last summer." Rachel, her hair pulled back neatly and her clothes straightened, returned her attentions to the suitcase that had been pushed to the floor and now lay sideways with its contents spilling halfway out. Quinn's white slingbacks that Rachel was mysteriously intent on taking lay haphazardly on the carpet, drawing a frown from Rachel.

"You're seriously going to take those?" Quinn asked.

"Yes," Rachel said simply. She lugged the suitcase up onto the bed and set to refolding the clothes that had fallen out, setting them expertly into the bag. The extra shoes she insisted Quinn take were laid atop the clothes, and Quinn watched with amusement as Rachel all but lifted herself off the floor in her attempts to squash everything down into the suitcase.

"Hold on, hold on," she said through her laughter, climbing to her feet. She elbowed Rachel out of the way and, using her height to her advantage, levered the suitcase lid down and held it long enough for Rachel to manhandle the zipper shut.

"Great!" Rachel said. Quinn's eyebrows knitted together momentarily, Rachel's bright demeanor feeling forced. "Now I just need to check my sheet music and I should be ready to go."

"Rachel, you don't need the sheet music. You've had the words down since the second rehearsal and the cues since the fourth."

"That's the kind of thinking that will get us in trouble, Quinn!" Rachel said shrilly. "We cannot afford to get complacent. We got lucky at Sectionals, but we cannot rely on such things in this caliber of competition."

"Right," Quinn drawled. "If you say so. But just so you know, you're starting to act like that Yorkie again."

"Preparedness is, I like to think, one of my more positive personality traits," Rachel said, eyes narrowing. She stepped around Quinn and dragged the suitcase off of her bed to set it by the door to her room.

"If you say so," Quinn said again.

Rachel whirled around, arms crossed over her chest as she glared at Quinn, who blinked in surprise at the genuine annoyance in Rachel's eyes. "You know," Rachel said lightly. "A more appropriate and romantic response to that would have made mention of the multitude of other positive qualities you find in me."

Quinn stared at her, feeling rather dumbstruck. "I'm…sorry?" She wondered if this was how Finn had felt any number of times she had been furious at him and had needed to explain to him with flashcards what he'd done wrong.

"Honestly, Quinn, I thought that one of the upsides of dating another girl was that she would understand such things."

"Do _what_?"

Rachel let out an exasperated puff of air, throwing up her hands dramatically. "You don't appreciate me!" she all but shouted.

Quinn took a step back in surprise, almost losing her balance when her calf collided with the bed frame; her hands raised up in front of her in a defensive posture automatically, she decided that this was _exactly_ what Finn must have felt like and resolved to apologize to him immediately.

"I… okay, time out," Quinn said slowly.

"No," Rachel snapped. "You don't get to call a time out on a relationship, Quinn."

"That's not what I'm doing!" Quinn shot back. "I just meant… I mean, give me a break, okay? You just went from happy-making-out-Rachel to homicidal-you-don't-appreciate-me-Rachel in like two point five seconds and I need a second to figure out what in the _world_ just happened!"

"It's not that hard to figure out," Rachel said childishly. "You don't appreciate me."

Quinn rubbed her hand over her eyes, feeling a headache starting to push at her temples. "What do you mean? Why are you saying that?"

"Because!" Rachel said. "Because…" her shoulders slumped, the anger seeming to fade from her in pieces until she was entirely deflated and looked even smaller than usual.

"Rach, come on," Quinn said quietly. "What's going on?"

"I feel like you're using me sometimes," Rachel whispered. She refused to meet Quinn's eyes, and Quinn felt a sick feeling expanding in her stomach. As many times as she'd thought the exact same thing herself—as many times as she'd _said_ the exact same thing—it still felt like a slap to the face when Rachel said it. It was one thing to think such derogatory thoughts about herself, or even to say them; it was another matter entirely to hear Rachel voice them. Every time Quinn had mumbled out her own concerns about using Rachel, it had been Rachel who had immediately come to Quinn's defense, who had shored her up and talked her through it and insisted that they were more than that.

"That's what you think?" Quinn said in a small voice. Every moment of uncertainty she'd felt since Kurt Hummel had prodded Rachel into making a move, every second of concern that she was digging them both into a hole they would never escape, every sliver of fear that she was going to drag Rachel into the inescapable cyclone of depression and self-loathing she felt swallowing her up, every thought she'd ever had about why she was going to break Rachel's heart came washing back over her like a tidal wave. Her mouth dried up irrevocably, her throat feeling heavy and her chest starting to ache with every second Rachel remained quiet.

"Okay," Quinn said after a long minute of silence. Though she was no stranger to confrontation—truly, she sometimes felt that she thrived off it—Quinn nonetheless remained incapable of handling a situation head-on when she felt that she had lost control. And if she was honest with herself, which she always thought she should be but generally failed miserably at, every situation with Rachel felt out of control.

Unable to conjure up a single word that she felt she should say—to apologize, explain, rationalize, say _anything_ to Rachel that she had said to Devon just days earlier that a part of her was certain Rachel was hoping to hear— she pushed herself to her feet and shuffled out of the room, carefully stepping around Rachel and thinning herself to avoid touching at all.

In her room, she stood limply by the foot of her bed. Exhaustion swept over her, the indecipherable emotions rushing through her sapping her energy away. Justifying it with the fact that she was worn out from the extra rehearsals Mr. Scheu was putting them through, she changed tiredly into her pajamas, shuffled downstairs to tell Rachel's dads she was too tired for dinner, and curled up in her bed with a pillow clutched to her chest.

After half an hour of lying awake, she shoved the covers back and stalked across the room to grab the yellow sandals Rachel had been unable to carry. Unzipping her suitcase, she shoved them in roughly and forced the zipper shut before returning to her bed.

She woke up six hours later, trembling violently, a phantom ache in her wrist matching the one in her stomach. Her bed felt too big without Rachel there to comfort her, as if the space between her body and the far edge of the mattress was threatening to swallow her whole. Casting a longing glance at her door, she bit down on her lip to keep from tiptoeing across the hall and into Rachel's bed and saying whatever she needed to say to get Rachel to hold her and make the tremors wracking her body go away.

Instead—because that would only prove Rachel right; because she didn't know if she was using Rachel or not; because for all that she had been feeling like things were going so well, it was clear she was still too lost in her own trauma to properly manage a relationship with someone like Rachel—she dragged the comforter and a pillow off of her too-big bed and dragged them down the hall to the bathroom. Settling herself on the floor, she curled up with the blanket wrapped around her, told herself that she was enough of a jerk to deserve the hard edge of the molding on the wall that was digging into her back, and waited for sleep to come again.

* * *

Quinn woke up with a groan on the bathroom floor. Her spine felt twisted, a sharp pain digging between her shoulder blades. The sky outside small window across from the sink was still dark, colored only by the house next door's floodlight highlighting its driveway, telling her she hadn't yet made it all the way to morning.

Swallowing another groan, she dragged herself up from the floor. She paused in front of the mirror, frowning tiredly at the dark circles under her eyes and the lines pressed into her right cheek from the pillow, visible even in the faint glow filtering in. With a disgruntled sigh, she trudged out of the bathroom, comforter and pillow clutched tightly to her chest. In her room, she rolled her eyes at the clock flashing 4:54 and thanked God that she and Finn had decided not to run that morning before heading to the bus. She reset the alarm on her phone from her usual wake-up time, and flopped gracelessly down onto her bed.

Sleep refused to come. Quinn stared disinterestedly at the ceiling, watching as the soft edges of light started to press in around her blinds as morning crept closer and closer. Half an hour later, she heard Rachel's alarm go off, her cheerful exercise music audible through the walls.

Making a split second decision, Quinn flung the comforter away from where she had haphazardly pulled it over herself and shuffled out of the room. She hesitated momentarily before raising her hand to knock halfheartedly.

She was tiredly contemplating sprinting back into her room when the door opened, an exhausted-looking Rachel looking up at her with some unintelligible mix of guilt and anger. Quinn, her hand still raised from knocking, stared down at Rachel stupidly, and suddenly wished that she had at least brushed her hair before this.

"Did you need something?" Rachel said. Quinn flinched at her cool tone, even if she could see the guilt in Rachel's eyes. "Because I have exercises to do, and I'd rather not start my day off behind schedule."

"I'm sorry," Quinn blurted out. "I'm sorry. Can we just be okay again?"

Rachel looked up at her appraisingly, folding her arms over her chest. Quinn bit back the instinctive commentary on the fact that Rachel, five minutes out of bed and in pajamas with fluffy cloud prints on them, looked more adorable than angry.

"Sorry about what?"

Quinn took a deep breath. "You aren't going to make this easy on me, are you?" she muttered.

"Of course not," Rachel said tartly, and Quinn winced again.

"I'm sorry," She repeated. "I'm sorry if it seems like I don't—if I don't appreciate you, as a friend or—or in our relationship. Because I do. I really do."

"Appreciate me how?" Rachel asked. "As a life boat, a friend, a girlfriend? I never know where I stand with you, Quinn, and lately I've felt more like a stuffed animal and a make-out buddy than anything."

Quinn flushed. "You're more than that," she said defensively. "To me you're more than that. I—I'm not really good with putting a name on anything right now, but you mean more to me than pretty much anything, and spending time with you is like the highlight of my day now. And yeah, you help me more than anyone, but that's not why I like being with you. I just… it feels good, like it never really did with Finn. Like it's okay if I'm not perfect." She frowned momentarily. "Or, you know, it _did_. Now I'm not so sure."

"You don't have to be perfect," Rachel mumbled. "You could just be nice enough to tell me every now and then that I'm not just a plaything."

Quinn smiled shyly, ducking her head momentarily and feeling entirely unlike herself. "Rachel Berry," she said, enunciating carefully, her voice clear in the darkness of the hallway. "You are so much more than a plaything to me." She bit her lip, the smile slipping away.

"I meant it when I said you were the only thing holding me together sometimes," she said softly. "I know you're probably tired of keeping me in one piece by now, and I'm trying to be okay, I really am. But that's not the only reason I like being with you. It feels good and it's fun and I like making you smile." She clamped her teeth together, blushing furiously as Rachel stared up at her with the faintest edge of a smile.

"Really?"

"Yes," Quinn murmured, feeling her blush deepen. She bit down on her lip once more, overcome by a night of horrible sleep and bad dreams and wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed with Rachel and just sleep, knowing that whatever happened in her dreams the brunette would be there to make things okay again. Without meaning to, she cast a brief and longing look over Rachel's shoulder to her unmade bed.

Rachel looked at her cryptically for long seconds, and Quinn fidgeted uncomfortably. Finally, Rachel reached out silently and took her hand, pulling Quinn into the room and shutting the door softly. Quinn, uncertain as always when coming off a fight, stood awkwardly still until Rachel prodded her towards the bed.

"Come on," Rachel said tiredly. "We're both packed, we can crash for another hour before we need to leave."

"Oh, thank God," Quinn mumbled. She all but fell onto the bed, a wide and sleepy smile pressing into the pillow when she felt Rachel's arm settle over her stomach, Rachel's body pressing against her back.

Within minutes, Rachel's breathing evened out, her arm loosening around Quinn's stomach as she fell back to sleep. Quinn, one hand resting tentatively over Rachel's that was pressed protectively to her stomach, waited for sleep. She lay awake, listening to Rachel breathe, until the alarm went off again an hour later.


	25. Chapter 25

The first day of Regionals was an awkward affair. Quinn, beyond exhausted, spent her downtime between rehearsals half-dozing in a corner of the auditorium, headphones in and a hooded sweatshirt covering her eyes. The edges of a migraine pulsated at the base of her skull all day and Quinn—determined to prove both herself and Rachel wrong by not convincing Rachel to go with her up to their room and hold her until she could fall asleep—lied through her teeth when Rachel asked if she was okay, clenched her jaw when no one else was looking, and covertly took Excedrin like candy all day long. Rachel, though she had ostensibly forgiven Quinn for their argument, kept a careful distance between them the whole day; she spent most of her time arguing with Mr. Scheu and Kurt and Mercedes about choreography and performance order, and only spoke to Quinn on sparing occasions.

Quinn cursed her headache half a dozen times throughout the day— when she saw Rachel throw up her hands in frustration, or Kurt or Mercedes make a snide comment towards Rachel—whenever the pounding at the base of her skull felt like a tether keeping her riveted to her seat. Instinct and frustration with Kurt and Mercedes prodded her to come to Rachel's defense, but the disappointment in the other girls' eyes that morning, the way she barely spoke to Quinn throughout the bus ride and the rehearsals, stopped her every time. The few times they had spoken were quiet and comfortable, but an underlying tension blanketed their conversations, and Quinn was uncertain of her ability to deal with any more confrontations.

The hotel room they shared with Mercedes and Tina was awkwardly split down the middle, with Mercedes and Tina monopolizing the television and engrossing themselves in gossip shows while Rachel and Quinn sat next to one another in their bed, Quinn staring at a novel and Rachel shuffling aimlessly through her endless notes.

Quinn woke up from a nightmare at three in the morning and surreptitiously slid out of bed and into the bathroom, where she sat in the corner by the bathtub with her knees drawn up to her chest for nearly an hour before the trembling in her hands went away and she felt like she might be able to sleep again. When the alarm went off at seven and Rachel bounced out of bed, shaking all of them awake frantically, Quinn grumbled silently and told herself that the fatigue was worth proving that she could get through a night without Rachel comforting her.

By the time they made it to the auditorium where the competition was being held, nerves overran everyone and the tension between Quinn and Rachel was forgotten. Quinn, all but hyperventilating as they waited on deck to start their show, found herself fumbling blindly for Rachel's hand and trying to focus on nothing but the deathgrip Rachel staked out on her fingers. As they were announced and lined up to march out for their first song, Rachel offered Quinn a supportive look, and Quinn leaned over to kiss her briefly before they moved to their respective places in line.

"For luck," she whispered as Finn rolled his eyes and dragged Quinn to her position. Rachel smiled brightly at Quinn, and then the music started and they marched out to sing.

When they bounded off the stage after their last number, applause following them into the wings, adrenaline and euphoria at a job well done had all twelve of them jumping up and down hysterically, hugs and high fives exchanged amongst everyone. Quinn, high off of listening to Rachel bellow out the last note of the solo to close their final number, broke free from the bear hug Mike had her wrapped in and fought her way over to where Rachel was bouncing up and down ecstatically with Tina.

As soon as her attention was diverted to Quinn, Rachel all but tackled her; Quinn stumbled back a few steps before restoring her balance, arms around Rachel's waist as Rachel pressed a hungry kiss to her lips. It was as if their argument and the subsequent silence had never happened, and Quinn, sinking into the moment of adrenaline and endorphins and the rush of a great show, promptly forgot that they had a ten-person audience.

It took a pained yelp from Artie to bring them back to the present, where their fellow club members were staring at them with slack jaws. Finn was all but cross-eyed, Mike was determinedly looking at a spot on the wall above Quinn's head, and Matt was gaping openly; Santana smirked cheerfully and Brittany was bouncing up and down happily, while Puck silently looked down at his shoes.

"Ow!" Artie said indignantly, glaring at Mercedes and rubbing the top of his head. She glared right back, eyes narrowed and hands on her hips.

"Your girlfriend is standing right next to you, moron," she shot back. "Don't stare at them making out when you're with your girlfriend!"

Tina giggled, smoothing Artie's hair down from Mercedes' slap. "It's fine," she assured the both of them. "It was kind of hot."

Quinn flushed darkly, moving to step away from Rachel; Rachel, having none of that, grabbed onto Quinn's hands after spinning around in her arms to face the others. Quinn, biting down on her lip and quashing down the flush of embarrassment she felt on her cheeks, kept her arms around Rachel's waist as Rachel opened her mouth to speak. Mercedes holding up a hand, though, stopped the words from making it out of her mouth, and Quinn smiled at the fact that Rachel was actually letting someone else tell her to be quiet.

"Hold it, Berry," Mercedes sneered. "We just had a damn good show and we all love you right now. Don't mess it up by talking and making me slap you."

Quinn's giggle died in her throat when she felt Rachel almost deflate in her arms.

"Hey," Rachel said indignantly.

"Hey," Quinn said in unison with Rachel, shooting Mercedes a dark look. "Be nice."

Mercedes blinked at her, cocking her head to one side. The sound of the next club starting their first number was a distant rumble; backstage, the entirety of the club had fallen quiet at the way Mercedes was staring at a bristling Quinn, who still had her arms tightly around Rachel's waist.

"Excuse me, what?" Mercedes' half-sneer fueled Quinn's indignation even more. Every moment from the day before, when she had watched Kurt and Mercedes argue with and gang up on Rachel, rushed back and added to the dangerous calm building within, and Quinn fought with the desire to systematically and irrevocably dismember every single personality flaw she'd ever seen in Mercedes Jones.

"You're completely out of line," Quinn repeated, anger expanding slowly in her chest. "Don't be a bitch to my girlfriend. None of us would even be here if it wasn't for her."

If she had been less focused on glaring Mercedes into submission, Quinn may have felt the quiet gasp Rachel let out; as it was, she was too intent on channeling every bit of her intimidating abilities into cowing Mercedes. Disentangling herself from Rachel, shoulders squaring unconsciously, Quinn stepped around Rachel to stand between her and Mercedes. Whatever friendship may have grown slowly between Quinn and the other girl over the past months was forgotten as Quinn crossed her arms over her chest and stared down her nose at Mercedes.

Kurt mirrored Quinn's actions, coming to stand defensively at Mercedes' side, hands on his hips defiantly. Quinn glared at him as well, daring him to speak up; even he withered visibly under her gaze. She didn't care the slightest bit that it had been mostly his proddings that had brought her and Rachel together, or that he was a truly good person; none of that would stop her from absolutely ripping him a new one as well.

"Don't even, Kurt," Quinn snapped. "You're just as spoiled as she is." She sneered elegantly at his indignation, daring him to try and argue. His jaw clenched shut, his eyes flashing with frustration at the realization that even on his best day he was no match for her, and Quinn slid her gaze back over to where Mercedes looked torn between arguing and running away.

"Sorry," she finally muttered, obviously uncomfortable in the face of a Quinn Fabray who was channeling her inner Sue Sylvester.

A hand her shoulder instantly calmed Quinn's anger, just enough for her to stop weighing the pros and cons of really letting Mercedes and Kurt have it. "Accepted," Rachel said softly to Mercedes. "Thank you."

An awkward silence covered the entire group as Quinn continued to glare at Kurt and Mercedes, Rachel standing with a hand on Quinn's shoulder, and both Kurt and Mercedes looking anywhere but at the two of them.

"Okay," Santana said loudly. Quinn and Rachel both jumped slightly, unaware that Santana and Brittany had been standing right behind them the whole time. Quinn thanked God for her best friends and their determined loyalty, finally uncrossing her arms and taking Rachel's hand in her own.

"Enough of this crap. We need to go get our scores," Santana went on, hands on her hips. When no one moved, she rolled her eyes. "_Now_, plebians," she snapped, and there was a sudden explosion of sound as the other eight members of the club all but ran for the door at the same time.

Quinn and Rachel stayed where they were, and Quinn offered a grateful nod to Santana; Brittany smiled brightly and Santana merely sniffed and rolled her eyes before letting Brittany bounce out of the room and drag her along.

"You okay?" Quinn asked softly, turning to face Rachel. Rachel was staring up at her with an incredulous look on her face. "What?"

"You…" Rachel started. She shook her head, pushing a hand through her hair and looking back up at Quinn questioningly. "Girlfriend?"

Quinn blushed deeply, clearing her throat and looking down at her shoes. "I, uh," she stammered. "Yes?"

Rachel grinned at her, reaching out to take her other hand. "That sounds great," she said softly. "And thank you."

"You're welcome?" Quinn said slowly.

"For standing up for me," Rachel said by way of explanation. She squeezed Quinn's hands gently. "Thank you."

"Oh," Quinn said, her voice faint. "Yeah, no problem." Her anger and adrenaline were rolling away, leaving her deflated and tired. "She deserved it."

"Maybe so," Rachel responded. "But I didn't expect anyone to challenge her on my behalf. Or Kurt."

Quinn snorted. "Kurt's about as good at confrontations as a goldfish," she said dismissively. "And Mercedes is all bark and no bite. Someone just needed to call her on it."

"Maybe so," Rachel said again. She stood up on her toes and kissed Quinn's cheek softly. "But I'm glad you were the one who did. And I'm really glad you did it in my defense."

"Yeah, well," Quinn mumbled. "It's what I'm here for, right?"

"As my girlfriend, yes, I'd say so," Rachel said. She flashed a bright smile when Quinn blushed again.

The door opened behind them, and Finn stuck his head in apprehensively.

"Oh, good, you're not making out," he said. He opened the door the rest of the way. "Mr. Scheu said I should come get you. The judges are going to give out the scores in a few minutes."

"Right," Rachel said, all business once more. She tugged on Quinn's hand, pulling her towards the door as she all but sprinted out. Finn leapt out of the way, smirking at the helpless look on Quinn's face as she hurried after Rachel in an attempt to keep her shoulder from being dislocated. She stuck her tongue out at him over her shoulder as he ambled along behind them, smirking at her.

Once they rejoined the rest of the club in the auditorium, Quinn's fingers started to ache from the tight grip Rachel had on them. Rachel, leaning over and talking at hyperspeed to an overwhelmed-looking Brittany, was oblivious, and Quinn sighed, resigning herself to losing feeling in her hand. Looking around the auditorium, which was abuzz with the audience and the other clubs, she caught sight of a bright red cardboard sign with her name on it in shiny white block letters. Devon waved cheerfully at her, pointing at the sign and looking inordinately pleased with herself; Mrs. Fabray was next to her, and waved demurely as well.

Quinn rolled her eyes at Devon's sign, shaking her head, but smiled and returned their waves anyways. It felt far too good to have them there for her to care that her sister had probably done an extraordinary job at humiliating her with the obnoxious sign. Her eyes scanned over the rest of the glee club, from a nervous Finn and a disinterested Puck, to a hyperactive Mike and the ever-silent Matt, to Mr. Scheu whispering something into Ms. Pillsbury's ear, to Santana rolling her eyes at Brittany trying to follow Rachel's train of thought. Quinn let her eyes skim right over Kurt and Mercedes, a stab of annoyance still pulsating in her chest at even the thought of them.

As the audience quieted down slowly when an announcer made his way out on to the stage, three assistants carrying trophies trailing after him, and started grandstanding about time-honored competition and how stiff the competition was for a single spot in the upcoming Nationals, Quinn finally felt her heart slow down to a normal pace. Next to her, Rachel continued to grip her hand painfully, one knee bouncing up and down rapidly as she stared up at the stage, a pained expression on her face as she hung unto every word spoken.

Unthinkingly, Quinn raised their joined hands up briefly to press a kiss to the back of Rachel's hand. Rachel's knee stopped bouncing, and she looked over at Quinn almost serenely, a small smile on her lips. Quinn returned the smile and quirked an eyebrow at her, settling back in her seat and returning her attention to the stage as they waited for the results.


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note:** whoo, this one was a chore to write... progression easy, dialogue haaaard. A bajillion and a half words in one story and I still don't feel comfortable writing dialogue for Rachel. Seriously. Chickie drives me up a wall sometimes.

* * *

After the last glee rehearsal of the school year, which had been more of an impromptu jam session with Mr. Scheuster after the final exam period, Quinn wandered slowly to her locker to retrieve the last of her books while Rachel headed to the auditorium for her own extra practice ("One can never be too prepared," she had said when Quinn laughed at her gently. "Just because we made it to Regionals in our first year as a club does not mean I can or will slack off in my practicing."),

"Quinn," Santana's voice startled her, the cheerleader appearing in front of her locker suddenly.

"Jesus, Santana," Quinn muttered. "Wear a bell or something."

Santana only stared at her solemnly, her eyes serious enough to catch Quinn's interest. She knew that the Cheerios had lost their first national championship in years, coming in a distant third the week after the glee club was barely edged out by Vocal Adrenaline at Regionals; the entire town knew about it, really, given that Coach Sylvester was on the warpath both on and off school property.

"What's going on?" Quinn said cautiously.

"Coach is going to corner you in about three minutes," Santana said lowly. "She wants you back on the squad."

"What?" Quinn barked out a laugh. "No way. She kicked me to the curb in the first place, and even if she hadn't, I don't _even_ want to get back into that mess."

"We need you, Q," Santana said. Quinn could see the frustration brimming in Santana's eyes as she all but spat out the words. Santana Lopez, Quinn knew by virtue of a friendship that started at the age of seven, hated nothing more than to need anything from anyone. "_I_ don't, like, need you, but the squad does.

"We were lucky to even medal at Nationals and we all know it. I'm fine at keeping people in line, but I'm better at it when you're on top and I get to play the enforcer under you." She looked physically pained at admitting it. "I mean, don't let it go to your stupid head or anything. But you and me were, like, the greatest team ever, and it's not as fun to scare people into listening to me when they don't have you to go crying to."

"Why are you telling me this?" Quinn said slowly. "You don't need people. Ever."

"We need the Cheerios," Santana muttered. "Me and Britt. We need the squad to be the best so we can get the _hell_ out of here."

"S, you don't need that," Quinn said. "You're plenty smart, and you've got really good grades. You'll get into college without the Cheerios."

"Nothing is a guarantee," Santana said, smiling thinly. "The fact that glee club is doing well and the Cheerios barely placed proves that. You and Berry prove that. I can't risk it, for either of us."

Quinn held back the smile that was threatening to show. Though both she and Santana had always been fiercely protective of Brittany—who would accept a ticking bomb from a stranger if he told her it had cupcakes inside it—Santana had consistently taken the role of intimidator, threatening bodily harm to any and every person who may have ever even considered harming Brittany, and left the sneaky planning to Quinn.

"Fabray!"

Quinn cursed herself for jumping slightly when Coach Sylvester appeared behind her, barking out her name. Santana smoothly slid around Quinn to position herself at the coach's side, arms crossed over her chest. "I assume that Lopez here was apprising you of your reinstatement as Head Cheerio."

"She mentioned the idea," Quinn said nonchalantly, lifting her chin slightly. Standing just behind Coach Sylvester, Santana shot Quinn an openly pleading look, and the wondrous feeling of being _needed_ prompted Quinn to cross her own arms across her chest, one hip canted out defiantly. "I have conditions, though."

Coach Sylvester looked like she had bitten into something sour, her jaw clenching visibly, but she nodded jerkily and looked Quinn up and down appraisingly. "I assume it has something to do with the glee club getting a free pass to continue in its pathetic quest for what William Scheuster feels is a worthy goal."

"In part," Quinn said. "Glee club is left alone. No more slushies, no more bullying, no more trying to sabatoge us."

"Very well," Coach Sylvester said, for all that she looked momentarily like a child told that Santa Claus was a lie. "Your sad little band of mouthbreathing misfits is safe. I expect you to be at our first summer practice an hour early."

"I'm not done," Quinn said stubbornly. She fought the urge to cower when Coach Sylvester's nostrils flared, staring Quinn down like she had dropped her brain on the dirty hallway floor. Squaring her shoulders, she looked up at the cheerleading coach with what she prayed was a confident expression, and continued, "I'm with Rachel Berry. And that isn't going to change if I'm back on the squad."

Behind the coach, Santana's eyes widened impossibly, her jaw dropping as she stared at Quinn; her posture, Quinn knew, only remained unaffected from years of practice. Coach Sylvester frowned, staring at Quinn blankly.

"Are you planning on trying to find her a spot on the squad?"

"What? _No_."

"Are you going to fully embrace your delinquent lifestyle and try to sway the rest of the squad into joining your lesbionic paradise full of flannel and tongue piercings?"

"I… no?" Quinn's confidence, while still present, was quickly being overwhelmed by confusion. "I want her left alone. By you, by the rest of the squad, by the jocks I _know_ you control."

"So long as it neither affects your performance nor your ability to put this sorry excuse for a squad back together, I could care less about you bedding that Liza Minelli impersonator than I do about you not being preggo anymore," Coach Sylvester said cruelly before she spun on her heel, brushing roughly past Santana and striding back down the hallway.

Quinn practically growled, rage blinding her as she lunged for the retreating figure of the cheerleading coach; Santana swiftly grabbed Quinn around the waist, bodily holding her back from attacking Coach Sylvester.

"I'm going to _kill _her," Quinn snarled, trying to shove Santana out of the way.

"You can't kill her, Q," Santana said. She always had been stronger than she looked, and Quinn, for all over her work to get back into shape in the past months, had yet to gain the majority of her own upper body strength back. Her struggles were futile, and she settled for glaring down the long hallway, wishing she could set fire to the coach's ugly black track jacket with her eyes. "You know she sold her soul, she can't actually die. She's like that Damien Grey dude. You'd just bite it trying."

"Nice to know you still have a backbone, tubbers," Coach Sylvester said loudly, turning around to walk backwards away from them. "Lopez, get her the training schedule. I expect her caught up before training starts."

Quinn relaxed slowly, shrugging her way out of Santana's grip gently and leaning back against the lockers.

Santana watched her carefully, arms crossed once more, and was silent as Quinn slowly reigned in her anger. "I can't believe you just did that," Santana said slowly once the tension had left Quinn's shoulders. "Did you seriously just out yourself to the coach?"

"I… have no idea," Quinn muttered. She slumped against her locker, replaying the sequence in her head. She looked slowly back to Santana. "Oh, God. Did I really just agree to join the Cheerios?"

"Yep," Santana said. She uncrossed her arms, fidgeting with her bracelet uncomfortably. "Look, Q, I—"

"You're welcome," Quinn said dryly. "Don't strain yourself, S. I know you hate saying thank you more than you hate saying sorry."

"Well, at least someone gets that," Santana sniffed. "It's weak."

"Right," Quinn said. She smirked momentarily, but it fell from her face quickly. "Oh, my _God_," she groaned, slamming her head back against the lockers. "Rachel is totally going to kill me."

"Probably," Santana said disinterestedly, picking at one of her cuticles. "Tell her Coach blackmailed you or something, if you want. I'll back you up on it or whatever."

"I might have to," Quinn muttered. She glanced at her watch. "Do you have the schedule?"

"Yeah, I've got the spares in my locker," Santana said. "Hope you weren't planning on doing anything this summer, Q. She's all but doubled the practices from last year because we lost."

"Wonderful," Quinn grouched as she followed Santana to the Cheerios locker room. "Well, Rachel's going to be in Chicago most of the summer, anyways."

"Fascinating," Santana said, clearly not remotely interested in Rachel Berry's summer plans. She grabbed a bright red binder out of her locker, handing it to Quinn. "The routines from this semester are in there, and the ones she wants us to work on this summer. You've got plenty of catching up to do."

"Witness my excitement," Quinn said. She sighed, shoving the notebook into her backpack and glancing at her watch again. "Rachel should be done by now. Gotta go."

"Later, Q," Santana said. She held Quinn's eyes momentarily, unmasked and thankful, and Quinn rested a hand on her shoulder momentarily, smiling softly before shouldering her backpack and jogging down the hallway towards the auditorium.

The ride home was taken up by Rachel recounting her ideas for the next year's run at Vocal Adrenaline. She had already compiled a list of thirty songs she felt Mr. Scheuster needed to consider, along with rough choreography for each one.

In the house, Quinn almost reached out to grab Rachel before she went to practice for her Myspace video and tell her about the Cheerios, but she hesitated; instead, she twisted side to side, cracking her back, and announced, "I'm going to go for a run."

Rachel frowned, looking at Quinn disapprovingly as she sliced an apple. She held a piece out to Quinn automatically, who took it just as reflexively. "You already ran with Finn this morning," Rachel said. "It would be more to your benefit to use my elliptical, or Dad's stationary bicycle."

"I want to be outside," Quinn said stubbornly. She hopped up on the counter next to Rachel, eating another piece of the apple. "It hasn't gotten stupid-hot out yet, and I have too much energy."

"You're going to kill your knees," Rachel mumbled crossly. She put her knife in the dishwasher and arranged what remained of her apple symmetrically on a plate. Quinn stole one last slice, jumping down off the counter and kissing Rachel briefly before jogging up the stairs.

"Yeah, but how great will my legs look until then?" She called back down the stairs. She heard Rachel mutter an incoherent response that was probably less than complimentary, rolled her eyes, and continued upstairs to change.

When she had made it home from her run and showered, Quinn found herself sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the notebook in her hands. The Cheerios logo emblazoned across the front mocked her cheerfully, the red plastic bright enough to give her a headache.

Taking a deep breath, she set the notebook down and made her way across the hall to Rachel's room. The door was open, and Rachel was bent over the notebook she scribbled all of her glee ideas into.

"Hey," Quinn said, knocking gently on the doorjamb. "Got a minute?"

"Sure," Rachel said. She spun around in her chair, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Especially if I can run some of this by you before I present it to Mr. Scheuster."

"Yeah, no problem," Quinn said absently. She moved to sit on the foot of Rachel's bed, fiddling with her watch nervously. "I need to tell you something."

"You can tell me anything," Rachel responded automatically. Quinn glanced up briefly, just long enough to see Rachel blushing slightly at her words, and bit down on her lip.

"You're not going to like this," she said. She winced when Rachel's eyes narrowed, her brow furrowing as she leaned back slightly in her chair, shoulders tense in a defensive posture.

"You're breaking up with me, aren't you?" Rachel said shrilly.

"_What_?" Quinn exclaimed. "No!"

"Are you sure?" Rachel said demandingly. "I'm aware that I'm very difficult to be with, but in my defense, you're not exactly a cakewalk either and for all that we've had our fair share of difficulties in the past months, I've done everything I can to be what you need, and—"

"Rachel!" Quinn said loudly. "I'm not breaking up with you! Jeez. Take a pill."

Rachel quieted, staring at Quinn with flushed cheeks and eyes wide. "Then what is it?" A dark look passed over her features. "Are you moving back to your parents' house? Quitting glee?"

"No and no," Quinn said. She swallowed, looking down at her hands. "I… Coach Sylvester wants me back on the Cheerios. She wants me to run the squad again."

Rachel barked out a short laugh. "I wish I could have seen _that_ conversation," she said. "You're not actually considering it, are you?"

Quinn remained silent, head bowed, unable to meet Rachel's eyes. She counted the seconds in her head, making it to seven before Rachel exploded.

"Are you _insane_?" Rachel shouted. "Do you remember what it was like for all of us when you were the head cheerleader? You were _awful_ and people got slushies thrown at them and you made fun of me all the time and you were Sue Sylvester's _minion_! You made everyone's life miserable!"

"I know," Quinn said defensively. "But I'm a different person now, Rach, you know that."

"Not if you put that uniform back on!"

"Nothing has to change just because I'm a cheerleader again!" She clenched her jaw as Rachel continued to stare at her accusatorily. "Do you seriously have like no faith in me?"

"Quinn, you were horrible," Rachel said bluntly, clearly not moved by Quinn's defense. "There's no reason you won't go back to being just as horrible when you get that uniform and that power back."

"Except for the fact that that's not _me_ anymore!" Quinn yelled. "Jesus, Rachel, do you really think that I'm still the same person I was a year ago? I was pregnant, my family threw me on the street and they wouldn't even look at me until I was in the hospital. How the _hell_ can you think that I'm still that person?"

"Because if you go back to the Cheerios, you'll get everything back that you lost!" Rachel threw back. She was out of her chair, gesturing wildly, her eyes dark and manic. "You'll remember what it was like and everything will go back to how it was! Everyone in glee will get slushied and stuffed into dumpsters and—"

"I never threw a slushy at anyone!" Quinn bellowed. "And, what, you only like me after I've been completely broken down and lost everything?" At some point she'd made it to her feet, too, glaring down at Rachel with her fists clenching at her side. "The second I get the chance to get a part of my life back you're going to hate me?"

"You hated me then!" Rachel cried out. "Excuse me if I freak out at the idea that you're going to forget everything from the last year when you're running the school again and don't need any of us!"

Quinn stared at Rachel, unable to channel the anger building in her chest—so much more volatile and dangerous feeling than even the rage she'd felt at Coach Sylvester early that day—and ground her teeth together.

"It's nice to know that you only like me when I have to depend on you," she said coldly. "And to think I had been so concerned that I was going to hurt you by needing you." Pulling herself up to her full height, determined to hold onto a least a portion of her dignity, she strode coolly out of the room, resisting the urge to slam both Rachel's and her own door.

In her room, she took a deep breath, and then another, and a third before her heartbeat returned to a healthy pace. A part of her wanted to start packing immediately, to return to her parents' house, or to Santana's, or Brittany's or Finn's, to go anywhere else. An equally strong part, though, battled against the instinct, reminding her of the countless fights she and Rachel had been through in their short relationship, and the fact that they had always made up.

Instead of packing, she flung herself onto her bed and ripped open the Cheerios notebook. Familiar diagrams swam in front of her eyes, and she grimly set to work at memorizing them.

She lasted twenty minutes before throwing the notebook away and wrenching her door open. Eyes narrowed, Quinn stalked back down to Rachel's room and barged in without knocking.

"Okay, let's do this," she said shortly, hands on her hips as she glared at an equally infuriated Rachel. "Let's have this out, once and for all."

"Excellent idea," Rachel spat out. She stood from her desk, crossing her arms defiantly and quickly continued before Quinn could speak again. "You rejoining the Cheerios is selfish and disregards both our relationship and our friendship, and I can't believe you're actually considering putting yourself back into the position where Sue Sylvester will control your every move."

"That's crap," Quinn snapped. "Do you even realize how much all of us have changed in the last year? I listened to the coach because I thought I had everything to lose if I _didn't_. Then I lost all of that anyways, and guess what? I survived! I found out that I had friends, that I had _you_, and that I didn't need all of the things I thought were so important. I know that now and I won't let her control me like that again."

"You say that now," Rachel said dismissively. "But when you have an entire squad of teenage mercenary cheerleaders responding to your every whim again, and all the perks that come along with it? When school starts back in the fall and you've got them all backing your every move, you won't need any of it anymore. You won't need me, you'll have everyone falling all over themselves to make you happy."

Quinn scoffed to cover the stabbing feeling in her stomach at Rachel's words about needing her. "So you really still think that the only reason I'm with you is because I need you? How many times are we going to go through this?"

"As many as it takes, Quinn!" Rachel said shrilly. "This is how things work in a relationship. We have to sort it out until it makes sense."

"What's left to sort out? You think I'm using you." Quinn squared her shoulders, preparing herself for the tightening in her throat that would inevitably come when Rachel didn't disagree.

She wasn't disappointed, and masked the need to break down and cry in frustration with a glare.

"If you're so certain that I'm using you, then let's cut through the crap and end this where it is," she said coolly. "I don't _need_ you. You said it yourself ages ago, when this all started. That I was stronger than I thought. I managed on my own at Regionals. I can sleep alone now, and I don't have as many nightmares, and I don't get panic attacks as often. I _can_ be okay without you, so whatever delusions of grandeur you have about me still being unable to function without you can be safely put to rest." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I did need you," she said, her voice quieter. "For a long time I thought I would always need you to hold me together. But you were right. I'm getting better, and a lot of it is because of you. But I'm in a place right now where I can keep myself together without you."

"So you're going to go back to the Cheerios and just forget about all of this, then?" Rachel said childishly.

Quinn let out a frustrated cry. "What is your problem, Rachel?" she shouted. "Why is everything so black and white with you? Is it that hard for you to understand the concept of middle ground? Just because I don't _need_ to be with you doesn't mean I don't _want_ to be with you, and just because I'm going to rejoin the squad doesn't mean that I'm going to regress into who I used to be."

"You were horrible back then," Rachel insisted.

"_Then_, yes," Quinn said. "But what did I know then?"

"It's only been a year, Quinn," Rachel said. "There's sixteen years of precedence to combat."

"Seriously?" Quinn said incredulously. "Rachel, that's idiotic. What happened in the last year? I had drunken sex with my boyfriend's best friend. I got pregnant. I broke the hearts of two really good guys. I was kicked out by my family _and_ my boyfriend. I fell to the absolute bottom of the social ladder and got slushied because of it and _my daughter died_ because of it." Her hands shook, and she itched to hit something, throw something, do anything violent and destructive and dramatic to focus her attentions instead of allowing herself to think about how horribly awry her life had gone.

"Explain to me how that doesn't change everything," Quinn said softly. "I was a horrible person. When I fell, I fell hard and everyone I was terrible to was more than happy to take advantage of it. Karma came back to bite me in the ass about it and an innocent child died as a result. Explain to me how the _hell_ that hasn't changed my entire world."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. For all of her dependency on Rachel, Quinn had never once spoken to her about how much she blamed herself, not since the very first time she voiced it in the hospital. Only Puck knew that Quinn continued to feel responsible, and him only because he was the only other person who could understand even a fraction of how it felt.

Rachel stared at her with wide eyes. The anger that had set her shoulders and left her jaw clenched seeped out of her, her body going in limp in parts.

"Quinn," she whispered, her words hesitant. "You know it wasn't your fault."

"Whatever," Quinn muttered. She lifted her chin, staring Rachel down defiantly. Arrogance and anger and stubbornness pushed to the forefront, and she welcomed their displacement of her pain; after all, pushing away the things that hurt was her best defense against them. "I'm rejoining the Cheerios. I won't quit glee. I won't move back to my parents' house unless you and your dads ask me to leave. I won't slushy people or blindly follow Coach Sylvester's orders. I'm not that person anymore. Believe whatever you want about it, and break up with me if that's what you want, but if you feel like contemplating the possibility of a _compromise_, let me know."

Shoulders back, she turned and made her way to the door. She paused, not turning back. "And when you do, maybe you can explain to me why you spend half of your time angry that I'm using you to keep me together, and the other half of the time angry that I won't need you enough." Anger and hurt still pulsing through her body, Quinn stepped out of the room and shut the door quietly.

Standing in the hallway, she took a deep breath, concentrating on slowing her heart. When it did, she made her way back into her room and, almost catatonic, changed to go for another run. She moved slowly, as if waiting for Rachel to burst into the room , ready to apologize and willing to compromise and finally understanding that Quinn was just as invested in their relationship as she was.

When her door remained untouched after she had changed clothes and pulled her hair back and laced up her running shoes, she sank back into her own anger and stomped out of the house alone.

She ran further than she had since before she got pregnant. She had worked her way back up to a five mile run every morning with Finn, and her frustration pushed her even further. Loud music pounded in her ears and her feet slammed into the pavement as she started her third circuit around the park, the seventh mile fading into the eighth as she stubbornly focused only on maintaining a perfect running stride.

She rounded the same blind corner where she had first bumped into Finn, and came to an abrupt halt when Santana materialized in front of her. Heart pounding, Quinn yanked her headphone out of her ears, glaring at Santana.

"What the hell, S?"

Santana simply crossed her arms over her chest, clearly unimpressed with Quinn's anger. "Finn said his mom said she saw you out here running when she went to the grocery store. And then still running an hour later. He's worried." She managed to make the last word sound more like a curse than anything else.

"I'm fine," Quinn said curtly. Recovering from the surprise of finding her best friend blocking her bath, she dropped her hands to her knees, breathing heavily. Now that she'd stopped running, the aches she had ignored in her shins and knees seemed to redouble.

"Right," Santana drawled. "That's what I figured. But Brittany made me come find you and tell you to stop running because she thinks you're going to hurt yourself."

"Sounds like Rachel," Quinn muttered inadvertently.

"Speaking of your little ferret," Santana said. She cocked her head to one side. "You told her. She's pissed."

"Brilliant deduction, S," Quinn deadpanned. Santana rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you're being a brat, and that you compared Brittany to the single most annoying person in Ohio, because you're clearly not in your right mind, by the way," Santana sniffed. "You're welcome."

Quinn rolled her eyes, straightening up slowly, her breathing returning to normal. Mirroring Santana's position, she glared half-heartedly at the other girl. "Do you have anything constructive to say, or are you just here to make snide comments?"

"Snide comments," Santana said immediately. "Really, Q, you're dating a midget in argyle who wants to be the next Barbara Streisand. You just _want_ me to make fun of you." She smirked when Quinn practically growled, taking a half step towards her. "I mean, the girl thinks that a pantsuit is suitable attire for a high school. Something is clearly completely upside down in her brain."

"Out of line," she snarled. "Stop it." Her hands ached, fingernails digging into her palms without her even realizing it.

"There she is," Santana said quietly. "I knew your backbone was in there somewhere. Hold onto that and remember that you're _Quinn Fabray. _You're a damn force of nature around this stupid little town, so relocate you inner bitch and man up and go sort this shit out."

Quinn snorted. "She doesn't get it," she muttered. "She thinks it's impossible for there to be a middle ground between things now and how they were a year ago."

"So, make her understand," Santana said irritably. "Jesus, Quinn. You guys fight, like, all the time. Seriously, you could have your own reality show with how often you argue with that nutjob. This isn't any different."

"I think it is," Quinn said. She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "It's like… she doesn't understand the whole idea of a compromise."

"Ugh," Santana said. She rolled her eyes. "I'm going to say this again, and you know how much I hate repeating myself, so listen up, Q." She stepped forward, glaring at Quinn distastefully. "_Make_ her understand, okay? Tell her whatever you have to, tie her to a chair to get to her listen if you need to, but make her understand. As much as I _really_ don't like her, she's good for you. She pulled your head out of your ass, and God knows we all needed for that to happen." Santana ignored Quinn's indignant "hey!", one hand snapping up to halt her words.

"Do what you have to," Santana repeated. "Don't go slipping back into how you were when you left the hospital, or last year. As fun as it was running everything with you, I happen to like you more now when you're only a bitch a part of the time, because then I get to be a bitch _all_ the time to pick up the slack. Berry is apparently the only one who keeps you in line, so you make her understand that you're coming back to the squad and that it _isn't_ going to change you."

With a frustrated huff, Santana tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and spun on her heel, marching off silently. Quinn watched her, brow furrowed, digesting Santana's rant.

"S," Quinn called without thinking. Even with her back to Quinn, Santana's eye roll was obvious before she turned around, staring expectantly. "Rachel said I was being selfish, by rejoining the Cheerios."

Santana continued to stare at Quinn, her face blank. "So," she slowly, and Quinn watched with intrigue as Santana had a momentarily visible battle with herself before tilting her chin up and continuing. "So, tell her you aren't."

Quinn gazed at Santana levelly, one eyebrow raised in question. Years of friendship made her silent question crystalline clear, and Santana nodded curtly before walking off. Quinn watched her go, and tried to remember a single time in their lives when Santana had given anyone permission to speak aloud of one of her rare moments of vulnerability.

She started on her way back to the Berry's house, running at a slower pace than she had been. As she rounded the corner onto their street, she slowed to a stop when she saw Rachel's car making its way towards her.

Rachel pulled to a stop on the side of the street in front of her, and Rachel slowly stepped out of the driver's side. She stood uncomfortably in front of Quinn, wringing her hands delicately together.

"You've been gone for almost two hours," Rachel said haltingly. "I was getting concerned."

"I was at the park," Quinn mumbled.

Rachel nodded. "Finn texted me and said you were there." She paused, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment. "I was still worried."

"I'm okay," Quinn said. Though half of her just wanted to blurt out whatever Rachel needed to hear to make things okay between them, the other half was stubbornly insisting that this time, Rachel was the one who was being unreasonable; that this time, Quinn had a reason to be angry; that this time, Rachel needed to be the one to make an effort and meet her halfway to make things right.

"Can… can we talk, please?" Rachel said. She stared at Quinn apprehensively, and Quinn squinted back at her in the fading sunlight, torn between thoughtfulness and frustration.

"Let me take a shower first," she finally offered. "Then we'll talk."

"Okay," Rachel whispered. Quinn nodded abruptly and graced Rachel with a tight smile before setting off the rest of the way down the block to the house. She determinedly didn't look back, or even consider Rachel's nervousness and apologetic eyes, until she was in the house and in the safety of the bathroom, hot water pounding down on muscles left sore from her run. Distantly, she heard the sound of Rachel's door across the hallway opening and closing; she imagined Rachel waiting in her room with the same apprehensive look in her eyes, and steeled herself for the upcoming conversation.

Quinn stayed in the shower until the hot water started to cool, and took her time drying herself off and changing into clean clothes. When she had dressed and brushed the tangles out of her hair and taken her contacts out, and no longer had an excuse to drag her feet anymore, she took a deep breath and made her way down to Rachel's open door.

Rachel sat at her desk, slipping slowly through a slideshow of pictures that Quinn recognized as ones Artie had taken at a rehearsal one day after getting a new camera. She stood in the doorway, watching Rachel's intent focus on the pictures, for several long seconds before knocking lightly on the doorjamb.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hi," Rachel whispered. She shut the laptop lid, spinning her chair around slowly to face Quinn. "I… Could I speak first, please?"

Silently, Quinn nodded. She didn't move from her post at the door, shoulder leaning against the wall and arms crossed defensively in front of her. Rachel nodded as well before taking a deep breath.

"There's clearly a lot we need to discuss," she started. "But there's something I do want to say before we get into the heart of our disagreement." She paused, taking another deep breath. "I had no idea that you still blamed yourself for what happened, Quinn. I vividly remember you saying as much when you were in the hospital, but you never said a word about it since then, and I suppose I assumed that if you continued to blame yourself you would have told me. Clearly, I was mistaken in that assumption."

She pushed herself to her feet, moving to stand in front of Quinn. "It wasn't your fault," she said softly. "I realize that when you told me that you think as much, you weren't looking for me to argue with you, nor were you looking for sympathy. I know that my saying anything in opposition to that belief will not change it, nor will it mitigate anything you're feeling. I can't imagine what it feels like to lose your baby like that, nor do I honestly want to. But I do want to make it abundantly clear that you are the _only_ one who blames yourself for what happened, and that your blame is wholly misplaced. What happened was in no way your fault—it wasn't karma or penance or punishment _at all_.

"I want to say that," she said. "Because I want you to know that however poorly you think of yourself, I still think the world of you."

Quinn looked at her levelly, unmoving. "But you still think that I'll be a horrible person again if I'm a Cheerio," she stated calmly.

Rachel sighed. "Quinn, you have to understand that things were miserable for me then," she said weakly. "I know you think I'm overreacting to this, and maybe I am. But do you remember what it was like? You _hated_ me."

"I didn't hate you," Quinn interrupted. She sighed frustratedly. "I just… I don't know. I didn't put you at the bottom of the social ladder, but that's where things fell, and I was too scared of falling from the top to _not_ do whatever it took to stay there. It was childish and immature and selfish, yeah. I understand that. I was truly terrible to you, and maybe I'll never be able to make it up to you. But my entire life was torpedoed last year, and it's changed _everything_."

She tugged her glasses off, rubbing at her eyes tiredly. "You know, I chose glee over the Cheerios a long time ago," she said carefully. "That isn't going to change. I may have joined the club for all the wrong reasons, but I found a family there that I didn't think I ever could, and there's no way I'm going to risk that. I'm not going to risk the friendships I have with everyone else in the club, and I'm there's no way I'm going to risk losing _you_ for the Cheerios."

The edges of a smile started to grace Rachel's lips, and Quinn grimaced. "All that said, though," she continued. "I'm still rejoining the squad. Coach Sylvester is the craziest person I've ever met, but no one can deny that she is _good_ at what she does. That squad gets national—even international—recognition regularly. If I can add that to my college applications, it'll be a huge boost. Which, you know, I'm going to need, because I'm going to need mad scholarship money for anywhere I get into."

She sighed, avoiding the frustrated look in Rachel's eyes. "You think I'm being selfish," she said blandly.

"Yes," Rachel whispered.

"You don't trust me," Quinn said.

Rachel looked away, a crestfallen look on her face, and remained silent.

Quinn took a deep breath. "Okay," she said slowly. Part of her was bursting to just let the whole explanation pour out, to say that she needed to this for her friends, to tell Rachel how exceptionally rare it was for Santana to ask anyone for anything, to explain that after a year of being helpless and broken she could finally give something back to someone. Instead, she bit her lip, knowing instinctively that even though Santana had given her blessing for Quinn to tell Rachel, the other girl didn't want anyone to know what she'd asked, and Quinn—reveling in the realization that she wasn't still just a broken shell of who she used to be, that she could be a whole person and be there for her friends like they'd been there for her—refused to lay the blame off on Santana just to make her own life easier..

"I do trust you," Rachel said eventually. She finally met Quinn's eyes. "I just… I'm scared, okay? I'm happy with you, but we do fight a lot, and I'm really scared that if you have the Cheerios to fall back on, one day we'll have a fight and you won't come back."

"Rachel," Quinn said exasperatedly. "I want to be with you. I _like_ being with you, believe it or not. However this started, whatever terrible situation it was that ended up with you being the one who I can count on to always be there, or with you being the person that I kind of really love making out with during free periods? None of that matters. Because for the first time in a long time, I think I'm happy, and I don't think I would be if I wasn't with you."

Rachel was silent, once again looking away. Quinn, her frustration mounting, clenched her jaw tightly and stared at Rachel, silently willing the other girl to speak up. When Rachel remained uncharacteristically silent, Quinn bit back the desire to yell and instead slowly rubbed one hand over her eyes.

"Why can't we find some sort of middle ground here?" she asked quietly. "Why does it have to be all or nothing?"

Rachel was still quiet, not looking up at she shrugged tiredly. "I don't see how we can reach a compromise in this situation," she said.

Quinn ground her teeth together. "Seriously, Rachel? Why is it so hard for you to grasp the concept of a compromise? How many times have we had this conversation?"

Rachel shrugged again. "What do you want me to say?" Strength underwrote her words, the first sign of a backbone she had shown since Quinn left the room hours ago.

"That you're willing to meet me halfway!" Quinn said. "That whatever you think of me, of us, it's worth it to you to make a compromise of _any_ kind!"

"Why do I have to be the one who makes a concession?" Rachel shot back. "Haven't I given you enough? Hiding out relationship, giving you all the space you need, trying to be with you every step of the way?"

"That's not how relationships work, Rachel!" Quinn shouted. Seething, she paused momentarily to keep from bellowing out her anger. "That's not how things work," she repeated, her voice tight. "You don't keep a tally of who's given what."

"That's easy to say from your side of it," Rachel said sullenly. "Maybe I'm tired of being the one who has to give everything up."

"I never asked you to give anything up!" For all of her initial determination not to raise her voice again, the words still ripped out of Quinn's throat loud enough to make both of them flinch. "I didn't ask you for anything. _You_ kissed me the first time. _You_ insisted that this could work. I _told_ you that I was terrified, that it might not work, that you would get hurt, but you kept pushing. All I ever asked was that we not advertise our relationship to the school. Hell, I outed myself to Sue freaking Sylvester today just to make sure _you_ wouldn't get hurt by the squad anymore! She could tell everyone, she could tell my _father _and ruin any chance I have of getting him back, and you still think I'm a coward trying to turn back time so I can be the head bitch again. What do I have to do to make you see that things are different now?"

Rachel stared at Quinn incredulously. Quinn stood, breathing heavily, her arms outstretched comically from where she had been flailing her hands around during her outburst. Heart beating wildly, head pounding, Quinn dropped her arms, a painfully familiar wave of exhaustion passing over her as her rage washed away as soon as her tirade ended.

"I guess I get that you don't trust me," she whispered. "Maybe I deserve that. But that doesn't make it hurt any less." She stared at Rachel wearily, waiting for the other girl to speak.

A full minute of silence passed before Quinn once again turned around and made her way back to her room, tired of being the one who always walked away but too hurt to care. She collapsed onto her bed, curling up around a pillow and staring out the window, wishing for sleep.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before Rachel knocked on her door apprehensively. Rolling over, Quinn looked blandly to where Rachel stood in the doorway in her pajamas, visibly nervous.

"What?" It came out sounding more biting than inquisitive, but Quinn was too worn out to care.

Rachel fidgeted with her hands, looking down before stepping further into the room and shutting the door softly behind her. Quinn noted dispassionately that her eyes were red.

"I spoke to Brittany," Rachel said softly. "I… I called her because I didn't know what to do, and she and Santana have been your friends long enough that I thought they could offer some insights." She paused, and offered a half-hearted, wry smile. "Santana called me all sorts of choice names that I won't repeat, but I will say that they lend great weight to the idea that what doesn't kill me will indeed make me stronger." Her smile faltered when Quinn failed to respond to her attempted levity, and she took a deep breath before continuing.

"Brittany told me that you agreed to join the Cheerios for her and Santana," Rachel said. The undercurrent of surprise in her voice cut Quinn more than it was probably meant to. "I… I really had no idea. That they needed you that much, that Santana would ever have asked. I didn't know." She bit her lip, taking a halting step closer to the bed, then another.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Rachel breathed out. "I said awful things, Quinn, that I never would have even thought if I'd known that you were doing it for them. I never would have thought you were selfish if you had just _told_ me."

"It wasn't my business to tell," Quinn muttered. "Santana is my best friend and she never asks for anything. It's a pride thing for her."

"But she said that she told you to tell me," Rachel said.

"She said I _could_ tell you," Quinn countered. She sat up slowly, discarding the pillow she had been clutching to her chest. "But she's Santana, you know? She hates needing anything and she likes it when people think she doesn't. She's my best friend," she repeated. "I don't want to take that away from her." She paused, glancing up at Rachel momentarily.

"I would have told you, if I needed to, for the record," she said softly. "But only as a last resort." She stared at Rachel, taking in the uncertain look in her eyes. "I wasn't, like, choosing my friendship with Santana over my relationship with you," she added hastily. "I would have told you if I really needed to. For the record."

Rachel shook her head slowly, pushing her hair back. "I wish you'd just told me," she said again. "I feel so horrible for calling you selfish. I—I thought that you wanted it back for yourself."

"Part of me does," Quinn admitted. "I liked being on the squad. Not for the popularity or the power thing or anything." She picked at a loose thread on her comforter. "I mean, that was cool, but I just liked being active, you know? We got run into the ground and pushed past our limits, but always came out stronger for it. I liked the challenge, and as much as I like glee, I don't get that from there."

Rachel nodded slowly. "I suppose that makes sense," she said. Her eyes were guarded, and Quinn bit back a sigh at Rachel's continued distrust. Rachel, either oblivious to or ignoring Quinn's frustration, moved to sit on the bed next to Quinn, biting her lip nervously.

She squared her shoulders, turning to look at Quinn seriously, and reached over to tangle her fingers with Quinn's. "I need to tell you something," she said carefully. "That I should have said a while ago."

Quinn, brow furrowed and throat brimming with apprehension, stared at Rachel fearfully, wondering what the brunette could possibly have to say after everything they had shouted at one another throughout the day.

"I think," Rachel started, faltering momentarily before licking her lips and lifting her chin and staring Quinn straight in the eye. "I know we have really different mindsets about relationships—about everything, really—and that's a huge obstacle. And we fight a lot, and sometimes I just get so _frustrated_, but in spite of all that, I can't imagine this—our relationship—not being a big part of my life in my future.

"I think that I'm falling in love with you," she said delicately. "And I don't think I really expected that to happen, but it is, and it's terrifying me. But I want you to know that I'm as invested in this as you are, and that I do trust you and want to stay with you for as long as you'll let me."

Quinn stared at her, jaw dropping. She blinked slowly, shaking her head to try and force the words to make sense. Rachel continued to stare at her expectantly, clearly waiting for Quinn to say something. Quinn, though, remained utterly flabbergasted and lacking in anything to say. Her mind practically screamed at her to speak, to move, to tell Rachel that she couldn't imagine a future without their relationship, either, and that she didn't want to. Her treacherous body, though, remained silent and unmoving, eyes wide and mouth gaping as she stared at Rachel with all of the grace and subtlety of an armored car.

After a long and uncomfortable silence passed, Rachel took a deep breath. Disappointment lingering in her eyes, she squeezed Quinn's hand before standing up. "I'll see you in the morning," she said softly. "Sleep well."

"Wait," Quinn said suddenly, as Rachel started to make her way out of the room. Rachel paused, looking back at Quinn uncertainly, and Quinn ducked her head demurely for a moment.

"Stay here tonight," she half-offered, half-asked.

Rachel, her shoulders slumped and making her look even more diminutive than usual, smiled the tiniest bit and shuffled back to the bed. Quinn scooted over to make room for her, pulling the blanket up over the both of them.

Rachel looked at Quinn hesitantly as Quinn fumbled with the remote for her iPod dock. "You never wear these," she said quietly, one hand ghosting over the frame of Quinn's glasses. Her eyes were murky with apprehension, her comment a painfully obvious attempt at trying to regain even a modicum of comfort between them.

Quinn grimaced, pulling them off and squinting as Rachel's face blurred. "I really don't like them," she muttered. She tossed them disdainfully onto her bedside table. "I can leave my contacts in for a month at a time. I like it better that way."

"If you say so," Rachel said sleepily. She burrowed down into the pillows, pulling the comforter up over her shoulders. "I think they're adorable."

"Of course you do," Quinn mumbled, rolling her eyes. She reached over top of Rachel to turn off the lamp, and rolled her eyes again when she felt Rachel giggle softly at her comment.

Laying down, she pulled the blanket up over herself as well. Blindly, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Rachel's temple. "Good night," she said softly. As she settled down onto the pillows, fatigue washing over her as soon as she relaxed, the last thing she noticed before sleep taking over was Rachel curling up into her side, fingers clutching her shirt in a desperately tight grip.


	27. Chapter 27

**Epic author's note is epic:** To quote a friend of mine, this shit's about to get heavy. By which I mean, this chapter hurt like a bitch to write, but a) it made sense character-wise, so b) it had to happen, and c) the whole point of this story is following the steps people take as a relationship changes, and sometimes those steps happen because of other people.

But still. I've been sitting on this one for ages, not wanting to do anything with it. Cos it was a bitch to write. Just so you know.

Also, because some people have asked, here and on Livejournal... yeah, this will be wrapping up soon. It was never supposed to get long anyways, but once it happened I told myself I'd stick it out until their relationship hit solid ground in whatever form it took- romantic, friendly, were-friends-now-hating-each-other, whatever. So, yes, there is an end point. For the record and all.

/ramble

* * *

A week into the summer break, Quinn drove Rachel to the airport. The brunette had attended the same workshop in Chicago for the past two summers, meticulously creating a network of contacts that a senator would envy as a stepping stone for her path to Broadway; the deposit for that summer's attendance had been sent in long before Quinn slipped down the stairs in everything fell apart around them. Quinn had struggled for weeks with the idea of asking Rachel to stay, or to find a way for Quinn to go with her, but had become far too determined to prove to everyone—but only to Rachel, really—that she could manage on her own.

They spoke of lighthearted things on the drive to the airport, windows down as Rachel belted out portions of arrangements she had already put together for the glee club's next run for Nationals and Quinn smiled softly as she listened. The tension between them that had risen out of Quinn's rejoining the Cheerios had slowly dissipated, as Rachel grudgingly started to accept Quinn's promises that she wasn't going to revert back to her younger self.

At the airport, they spent half an hour trying to navigate the parking lots, which ended in Rachel bolting out of the car suddenly to flag down an employee for directions while Quinn slammed on the brakes and all but shrieked at Rachel to not kamikaze her way across an airport parking lot; Rachel's triumphant return to the car with a map in hand was, unfortunately, far too adorable for Quinn to remain angry, and she simply rolled her eyes and yanked the map out of Rachel's hands before finding her way to the hourly parking garage.

Rachel chattered incessantly as they made their way into the terminal, practically bouncing with excitement. Quinn followed her to the beginning of the security line, listening indulgently as Rachel prattled on about one of the vocal instructors at the workshop.

As Rachel extracted the folder with her meticulously kept boarding pass and gate information, Quinn clamped down on her lower lip and determinedly looked down at her watch in an effort to quash the hollow feeling in her stomach at the fact that Rachel was about to be gone for two straight months.

"Hey," Rachel said softly, one hand reaching out to rest on Quinn's elbow. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Quinn forced out. She smiled tightly. "I'm good."

"Don't lie to me, Quinn," Rachel said sternly. She stepped closer, reaching out and forcing Quinn to look at her. "I know things have been rough between us lately, but if you ask, I will stay."

"No," Quinn said, adamant. "You've been excited about this for ages. You already paid."

"I don't care," Rachel said. Her brow furrowed. "I'm worried about you."

"I'll be okay," Quinn said. "Really. I haven't had a nightmare in a while now, you know? And I haven't had a panic attack in weeks."

"Even so," Rachel started.

Quinn shook her head. "Really," she said again. "I'm going to be okay, you know. I was okay when I went to Columbus, and I'm better now than I was then." She smiled crookedly. "Besides, I'm going to be at training nine hours a day. I won't have the energy to dream."

"Urgh," Rachel muttered. "Don't remind me. That woman is a slave driver."

Quinn giggled half-heartedly. "Yeah, well, just look at it this way," she said brightly, desperate not to part on depressing terms. "I'll be in ridiculous shape when you get back. You won't know what hit you."

Rachel laughed softly, shaking her head. "Hot cheerleading girlfriend," she said thoughtfully, a playful look in her eyes that didn't quite reach as deep as it normally did. "Things could be worse."

"Exactly," Quinn said. She gripped Rachel's hand briefly. "You'll have a great time, I'll call you to complain about Brittany and Santana driving me up a wall. You'll tell me I run too much and I'll make fun of you for not being able to reach the overhead compartments on your flight. You'll be back in no time."

"Right," Rachel said softly. She tightened her grip on Quinn's hand. "I'm going to miss you."

"You, too," Quinn whispered. She bit down on her lip again as Rachel shoved the boarding pass into her backpack and stepped in to pull Quinn into a tight hug.

"Please take care of yourself," Rachel said, breath skittering across Quinn's neck and making her shiver. "Don't try to handle everything alone."

"Okay," Quinn mumbled. She straightened up reluctantly, glancing at her watch and sighing. "You should go," she said.

"Yeah," Rachel said. She extracted her folder once more, flattening the now-crumbled boarding pass with a grimace.

"Call me when you land, okay?"

"Of course," Rachel said. She glanced around shyly before leaning up and pressing a brief kiss to Quinn's lips. "I'll miss you," she said again.

"I'll miss you, too," Quinn mumbled. She picked up Rachel's carry on, handing it to her slowly. "Don't fall in love with any theater gurus."

Rachel giggled. "Don't fall in love with any football players," she shot back. "Or cheerleaders," she added with a smirk.

Quinn flushed, glaring at her before rolling her eyes. "I'm not going to miss you at all," she said primly, crossing her arms. "Not the tiniest bit."

"Of course you will," Rachel said with a bright smile. She shouldered her bags and flashed her trademark brilliant grin at Quinn once more as she started walking backwards towards the security line. "Infinitely!" she called.

"Not remotely," Quinn shot back. She stuck her tongue out when Rachel blew her a kiss before disappearing through security.

Two days later, Cheerios training started for the summer, and Quinn tumbled headlong into ten hours a day on the football field, slipping easily back into a leadership mentality as she cajoled and threatened and bribed the rest of the squad into just one more mile, one more run through, one more set of calisthenics. The steady distance running she had been doing did little to prepare her body for the shock of Sue Sylvester's weightlifting regimens, or wind sprints, or the constant gymnastics required of all of them. Every night, she trudged home and barely had the energy to eat dinner and shower before falling into bed.

Every time she spoke to Rachel, she swallowed the urge to complain about how unfair it was that most teenagers got to have fun over the summer, while the Cheerios got to slog through a boot camp that outstripped most military schools'; as tired as she was after only three weeks, she was more afraid of Rachel tossing an "I told you so" her way to say anything. Instead she listened as Rachel regaled her with stories about the other students in her workshop, the pieces they were currently working on, the pranks that the instructors liked to play on each other, and returned the favor with anecdotes about how horribly the football team's summer camp was going, how Coach Tanaka had almost swallowed one of his whistles on day, how Puck and Finn had gotten drunk one night and stumbled to Kurt's house to convince him to let them in on his secret for always getting into girls' minds.

The summer was half over when Quinn shuffled down the stairs one morning, fresh from a shower after a short run, stretching and thanking God for the fact that even Sue Sylvester took weekends off sometimes, and stopped dead when she saw her father standing stiffly in the front hallway, trading steely glares with Eric while her mother hovered nervously in the doorway, hands clenched tightly on the strap of her purse.

"Dad," she mumbled, stopping dead, one foot still on the stairs.

He was silent, staring at her darkly, and Quinn felt a thrill of fear uncannily similar to the one she'd experienced just before he kicked her out. Though she and the rest of her family had reconciled to some extent since Quinn left the hospital, her father had remained silent and distant from her every time she was in the Fabray household, avoiding the dinners she attended and walking out of any room she came into. Quinn knew that both her mother and her sister, as well as her in-laws, had begged and pleaded and bargained with him as much as they could, but he remained unmoving and refused to acknowledge that she was still a member of the family.

"We need to talk," he said lowly, the first words he'd spoken to her in nearly a year.

"What about?" she asked cordially, determined to quash her fear and uneasiness with the impeccable manners she had been reared with.

"I ran into Michael Jacoby at the golf course yesterday," he said. His voice remained dangerously low. "His daughter is a freshman on the Cheerios."

"Kristin," Quinn supplied automatically. She had learned more about the squad than she'd ever wanted in the past month, from middle names to phobias to who was best suited for gymnastics versus dancing.

He clenched his jaw at her interruption, and she winced. Behind him, her mother's eyes darted back and forth between father and daughter nervously. Eric stood tensely in the hallway, positioned subtly between Quinn and her father, and Quinn wanted nothing more than to hide behind his broad shoulders for protection.

"He had a lot to say," her father continued. A sour look crossed over his features. "First of which was that that Finn Hudson boy wasn't the one who got your pregnant. He also said that there's a rumor that you're having—_relations_ with some _girl_."

Quinn's eyes widened as her father forced the words out of his mouth, and her fingernails dug into her palms as she fought the urge to run up the stairs and hide.

"I don't know which is worse," he sneered. "You getting knocked up by a Jew or letting that trollop turn you into a lesbian."

The hallway was a sudden flurry of movement as Quinn, Eric, and Quinn's mother all started yelling at the same time, voices rising and unintelligible as Quinn shouted her offense at his distaste for Rachel and Quinn's mother leapt to Quinn's defense, and Eric pulling up to his full height and furiously demanding that Mr. Fabray get out immediately and not speak to Quinn in such a way.

"She is my daughter!" Mr. Fabray bellowed. "I will speak to her how I see fit, and you'll find it best to stay out of it."

Quinn felt her entire body tremble at the sound of his voice, unintentionally shrinking back at his anger. Eric stepped angrily around Mr. Fabray, yanking the front door open.

"Get out," he said lowly, seething. In the months since Quinn had moved in with the Berrys, she had never seen Eric so angry. "Get out of our home."

Mr. Fabray ignored him, reaching out and latching onto Quinn's arm, yanking her off the stairs. "This is unacceptable," he snapped, gripping her arm painfully. Immediately, Eric and Mrs. Fabray sprung into action, Eric grabbing Mr. Fabray's arm and yanking it away from Quinn while Mrs. Fabray wrapped an arm around Quinn's waist and pulled her away protectively.

"Don't touch her like that," Mrs. Fabray spat out, and even through her fear, Quinn felt a rush of warmth at her mother's defense.

"She's going away," he shot back, jerking his arm out of Eric's grasp and glaring at Quinn disgustedly. He jerked forward and snatched Quinn's arm back, sheer strength pulling her out of her mother's arms.

She dug her heels in, fighting back against his grip, her fingernails scrabbling at his hand while her mother pulled weakly in the other direction and Eric tried to break Mr. Fabray's hold without hurting either Quinn or her mother. In the flurry of movement, as Mr. Fabray's considerable bulk worked to his advantage, he snapped, shoving Eric into the wall and yanking Quinn to his side. She continued to fight back, and he glared down at her dangerously before his other hand flew up, striking across her cheek before he shoved her away.

"Stop fighting me!" he roared. Everyone came to a sudden stop, Mrs. Fabray staring at him in horror, Eric in utter disbelief. Even as Quinn froze from the shock of his strike, eyes wide and tearing up, she numbly noted a hesitation in his voice, a flicker of remorse in Mr. Fabray's eyes before he continued on shouting. Her hand went automatically up to her cheek, coming away with a tiny smear of blood from where his ring had broken skin. "I'm sending you off somewhere away from all of this trashand that little lesbian _whore_."

The yelling and sound of the scuffle had drawn Paul up from the basement, and he entered the hallway just in time to see Quinn, one cheek sporting a violently red handprint, launching out of her mother's grip, as uncontrollable fury pushed her towards nothing but violence and destruction at the final insult her father had dealt out, overwhelmingly determined to set him right for his attack on Rachel while Eric growled and pulled Mrs. Fabray out of the way as he too started towards Quinn's father.

Paul instinctively jumped into the fray and caught Quinn around the waist, stopping her mid-air trajectory just before her fists impacted against a rage-blinded Mr. Fabray. The moment Quinn was restrained in the arms of a baffled Paul, Eric's fist slammed into Mr. Fabray's jaw, sending him stumbling back into the wall.

Quinn continued to fight against Paul's grip, but even for all of her athleticism and strength, he still had practically eight inches and a hundred pounds on her that she couldn't beat. "Get out!" she shouted at Mr. Fabray. "Get away from me."

He pushed himself to his feet, wiping blood off of his lips and breathing heavily. "I am your father," he said angrily. "It's my responsibility to fix you."

"I'm not broken!" Quinn shrieked.

"You're living with gays and Jews!" he bellowed, accusing fingers pointing to where Eric stood with his fists clenched and shoulders tight, ready to strike again.

"You threw me out!" Quinn threw back.

"And now I'm taking you back!"

"No!" Quinn said, her voice unified with her mother's, as well as Eric's and Paul's. Quinn twisted out of Paul's arms, though didn't argue when he kept a hand on her shoulder tightly; her mother shifted to stand on her other side, gripping Quinn's hand just as tightly and matching Quinn's glare towards Mr. Fabray.

"No," Quinn said again, her voice lower. "You kicked me out on the street, you wouldn't even speak to me when I was in the hospital, and now you come in here and insult the people who took me in, who gave me a family? Rachel is the best thing that ever happened to me and she means more to me than you ever will again, and _I don't care_ what you think anymore." She lifted her chin, a dark sense of satisfaction spreading throughout her when a guilty look flashed across his features at the bruise she knew was forming on her face.

"I don't care if you hate me now," she said. Her voice caught in her throat—of course she cared, but he had finally crossed a line she couldn't allow when he insulted Rachel and her fathers', and through all of the tangled emotions bounding within her at the moment, she cared less about what he thought of her than she ever thought possible—and she tightened her grip on her mother's hand.

"Quinn," he said. His voice was tight, strangled, as if emotion or guilt or frustration was wrapping it too tightly in his throat. "I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

Quinn didn't think she had ever seen him look so genuine, and for a miniscule second felt like a four year old again, tired and hurt and scared and wanting nothing more than to curl up in her father's arms and let him fix whatever was broken. The moment vanished, though, as he reached up again to dab at the blood on his mouth from Eric's punch, and she hardened her gaze as she stared back at him.

"That doesn't matter," she said, proud that her voice wavered only the tiniest bit. She took a deep breath, drawing strength from the comforting weight of Paul's arm across her shoulders, her mother's hand in hers, Eric's tense posture as he stood at the ready to throw Mr. Fabray out of the door if necessary. She jerked her head towards the front door, still open from when Eric had first told Mr. Fabray to leave.

"You need to leave," she said. She kept her voice as level as possible, but her vision blurred with tears anyways, as much from the resonating sting in her cheek as the fact that she was finally and irrevocably severing the remaining ties she had with her father. "Now."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but Eric finally moved, uncoiling like a spring and grabbing him by the collar. "She said leave," he ground out. He bodily dragged Mr. Fabray out of the door, shoving him down off the front porch and immediately coming back inside to slam the door.

Quinn stood, unmoving except for the tremors appearing in her shoulders, as the three adults stared at her in concern. Her mother turned to face her, free hand coming up to gently ghost over the bruise forming on Quinn's cheek; Quinn flinched, stepping swiftly away from both her mother and Paul.

"Quinn," Mrs. Fabray said softly. "Are you okay?"

Quinn clamped down on her lower lip, her head pounding and cheek throbbing and hands shaking uncontrollably as she put them up in front of her, keeping everyone away from her. "I… I need a minute," she muttered. "Sorry." She bolted up the stairs, barely noticing as she heard Paul quietly telling her mother that she was welcome to stay with them if she wanted.

In her room, Quinn slumped against the door, her entire body shaking. She heard the low rumble of the Berrys and her mother talking downstairs, but focused her attentions on tuning out the words. Eyes shut, she pressed her forehead against the door and tried valiantly to steady her breathing, her heartbeat, the tremors wracking her entire frame.

Minutes ticked past as she slowly brought her body back under control, and her legs trembled with exhaustion. She stumbled over to her bed, dropping down onto it and grabbing a pillow to clutch to her chest as she sat curled up against the headboard. The Book of Common Prayer that she kept on her nightstand, a gift from her father when she went through Confirmation in the seventh grade, mocked her solemnly, and she could do nothing to tear her eyes away.

A quiet knock and the door opening finally pulled her out of her reverie, and she looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway. Tears stung her eyes once more, and she swiped angrily at them, grimacing at the pain in her face when she did.

"I'm so sorry," her mother said softly. "I never thought he was capable of going off like that."

"It's not your fault," Quinn said, more by default than actual belief. As much as she loved her mother and the support she had shown that morning, a part of her still hated that they were married, that she had committed her life to his.

"I don't know about that," Mrs. Fabray said. She cleared her throat. "I spoke with Paul and Eric about it, and they—_we_ think it would be best if you flew up to see Rachel."

Quinn's eyes flew up to meet her mother's, incredulous. As accepting as Devon had been of Quinn's relationship with Rachel, Quinn had never expected any such acceptance from the same woman who allowed Mr. Fabray to throw Quinn out for being pregnant.

"What?" she said in a small voice.

Mrs. Fabray sighed, rubbing her hand over her eyes tiredly. "Quinn, I've made so many mistakes in your life that I don't want to even try and count them," she said. "Most of them were following blindly with what your father, and my father, and all of their friends, said was 'right', and I don't want to keep making those mistakes. While I… well, I don't understand what's going on with you and Rachel. If you're a—a lesbian or something. But I do know that you're my daughter, and I almost lost you twice, and I don't want to risk a third strike." She squared her shoulders, the movement identical to every time Quinn did the same thing. "I've been around Rachel and Paul and Eric enough in the past months to know that they all love you, maybe better than your father or I ever did, and that's something that you deserve. If Rachel makes you happy, then, well, I'll learn to deal with that."

Quinn stared at her dumbly, the pain in her cheek and dried tear tracks on her skin forgotten.

"Mom," she said weakly. Her mouth hung open as she tried desperately to push through the shock that was clouding her mind.

"There's nothing you need to say," Mrs. Fabray said. "You're not the one who's done something wrong, Quinn. I have, and now I'm trying to fix it." She moved to sit down next to Quinn, a hand on her daughter's knee. "I love you, Quinn. You're my baby girl and you deserve all the happiness that I never got, to get out of this town and live the life you want. I won't stand in the way of that."

Quinn felt her eyes well up again, and her throat closed up as she leaned over and wrapped her arms around her mother tightly, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to keep from crying into her mother's shoulder.

When she finally pulled away, Mrs. Fabray smiled and pushed Quinn's hair back from her face. Her fingers hovered over the bruise and her jaw tightened, but she said nothing about it. "Come on," she said. "Pack a bag. Paul's printing off your ticket, you need to get to the airport."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," she confirmed. She stood, pulling Quinn to her feet as well. "We all know that we aren't what you need right now," she said. "Rachel is what got you through things after you left the hospital, and she'll be what helps you the most now."

"What are you going to do?" Quinn asked hesitantly, stuffing clothes and a book and her computer and iPod haphazardly into an overnight bag. Her hand hovered for a split second over the prayer book, her cheek throbbing, but she grabbed it anyways, placing it delicately in the bag atop a handful of t-shirts.

Mrs. Fabray hesitated, her hands stilling as she folded a sweatshirt. "I think I'll go see Devon," she said. "I haven't been out there since they moved."

"When will you be back?" Quinn hated how childish she sounded, and busied herself with wrapping up the power cord to her laptop.

"I don't know," Mrs. Fabray said quietly. "I need to figure out what I'm going to do about your father."

There was a knock on the door, and Paul stood in the doorway, car keys in one hand and a printed out boarding pass in the other.

"About ready?" he said, his voice soft. Quinn's chest ached, and she fought the overwhelming urge to cross the room and throw herself back into his arms, to feel the comforting weight of him holding her, so similar to every time Rachel had wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Yeah," she said. She hoisted her bag, reaching out and taking her mother's hand automatically. She bit her lip before speaking again, looking over at her mother hesitantly. "Will you come to the airport?"

"Of course," Mrs. Fabray said. She squeezed Quinn's hand, and they followed Paul down the stairs. By the car, Eric took her bag and set it in the trunk, hugging her tightly before she got in the car. Quinn winced at the bruised and swollen knuckles on his hand, and he scoffed, shaking his head.

"Thank you," she whispered, hugging him again and burying her forehead in his shoulder for a moment.

"Of course," he said softly, his uninjured hand stroking along her hair momentarily, just like Rachel did so often.

Quinn cleared her throat as she stepped back, sick of crying, and he smiled at her once more.

"Rachel will be there to pick you up," he said, opening the door for her and Mrs. Fabray. "And you come back on Tuesday. And," he added, holding up a hand to cut off her question. "We'll handle your psychotic coach. Or, at the very least, get Santana to handle her, since she's probably more equipped than we could ever be."

"Thank you," she said again, voice tight as she buckled her seatbelt. He smiled at her as he closed the door, and she automatically curled up in the seat, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on her knee tiredly. The clock on the dashboard flashed to life as Paul started the car, and she could hardly believe that it was just a few minutes past ten in the morning. The past hours felt like an immeasurable swath of time.

The drive to the airport was taken in silence, so very different from the same drive Quinn had taken with Rachel a month earlier, with only the sound of the radio playing softly echoing throughout the car. At the airport, Quinn walked with her head down, her face flushing in shame as she was certain that every person who walked by her was staring at the bruise that was flourishing over her cheekbone. Paul and her mother stood close to her, one holding her hand and the other with an arm around her waist to support her, until it was her turn to go into the security checkpoint. She clung to her mother tightly, hot tears melting down onto Mrs. Fabray's shirt, before accepting a gentle kiss on the forehead and a smile as she turned to hug Paul. He held her just as tightly, staying silent as she mumbled a strangled good-bye.

Once she was through security, she turned and waved tiredly at them. They returned her wave, and Quinn, determined even in exhaustion and a emotional quagmire to not leave looking pathetic, straightened her shoulders and offered a smile to them. Even from a distance, she saw pride flash across her mother's face, and Quinn slowly made her way towards her gate, pleased that she had at least managed that much.

Throughout the flight to Chicago, Quinn sat curled up in her seat, turned towards the window, headphones in and faking sleep anytime a flight attendant or the woman she was sitting next to tried to speak to her. She felt distant and numb, as if the entire day was a dream; she grasped to that idea tightly, unwilling to acknowledge the fact that whatever slim chance she and father may have had at reconciliation had vanished the second he called Rachel a trollop and been absolutely decimated further when he hit her.

She touched her fingertips to her cheek gently, prodding experimentally at the bruise under her eye. Her fingers trembled at the memory of the anger in his eyes when he'd grabbed her, an out-of-control fury that she had never seen in him before; she remembered the flash of regret that had slipped through the moment he had hit her, the obvious strain in his voice when he'd insisted that he could never hate her, and her chest started to ache more than her bruised face.

She shook off the memories as the plane started its descent, physically shaking herself in preparation—head, shoulders, hands—as if the systematic movement would shock her awake from the dream-like state she felt suspended in. She smiled tightly at the sympathetic look the woman sitting next to her offered and busied herself with making sure she had everything packed into her backpack, even though she hadn't taken anything out of it the whole flight.

Slowly, she made her way through the unfamiliar airport, deliberately not turning her phone back on as she followed the maze of signs towards the baggage claim. Before going down the stairs to where she knew Rachel would be waiting for her, she ducked into a bathroom, commandeering a corner of the sinks, thankful that there were only two other women in the room.

Sighing, she stared at herself in the mirror. Dark circles underlined both her eyes, a product of the exhaustion that had fallen impossibly on her shoulders since that morning. A faint bruise spread along her left cheekbone, faint but visible lines from her father's fingers crossing under the discolored skin. She knew, from experience and the countless bruises she'd earned from tumbling off of sloppily-constructed cheerleading pyramids, that it wasn't going to get any worse, and was probably going to be invisible within a day, maybe two at most.

Even so, the urge to cry shoved darkly up from her chest, a strangled half-sob escaping before she got one hand up to cover her mouth. She leaned on the counter heavily, shoulders slumped, and tried desperately to compose herself. Distantly, she was aware of the other two women in the bathroom, her mother's age and traveling together, looking at her apprehensively, one of them clearly torn between leaving and coming over to try and comfort her.

Clenching her jaw together, Quinn swallowed the desire to cry and pushed up from the countertop, straightening her shoulders instinctively. The past year had seen her spending far too much time crying in public bathrooms, and she refused to continue with the trend when there were no more pregnancy hormones to blame. She grabbed a paper towel out of the dispenser, dampening it in the sink and wiping her face carefully, until the tear tracks were completely gone, her skin tingling. Pausing to dry her face, she shouldered her backpack and picked up her overnight bag, took one final look in the mirror to assure herself that, even if she looked battered, she wasn't broken, and then walked briskly out of the bathroom.

Her determination lasted until she found Rachel waiting anxiously at the baggage claim, standing childishly atop one of the benches to scan over the top of the crowd. Quinn's stomach clenched as she made her way over to Rachel, and she dropped her bags as Rachel leapt gracefully off the chair to wrap her arms suffocatingly tightly around Quinn's waist.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, holding Quinn tightly. "I'm so sorry." She pulled back slightly, her jaw clenching visibly as her eyes scanned over Quinn's face. Quinn ducked her head down, pressing her forehead against Rachel's shoulder, ashamed of the bruise under her eye.

"I'm sorry," she said spontaneously into Rachel's shoulder. "I didn't mean to ruin your weekend."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rachel said. "Getting to see you, regardless of the circumstances, is hardly ruining my weekend." She stepped back, forcing Quinn to look at her. "Honestly."

"Thank you," Quinn mumbled, head ducking down tiredly again at the stares they were attracting from the ruder travelers. "Can we go?"

"Absolutely," Rachel said. She picked up Quinn's overnight bag, and Quinn dragged her backpack up to her shoulder, and they started hand-in-hand out to find a taxi.

They sat huddled together on a bench, waiting for the crowds to die down before they could get a cab. Quinn leaned against Rachel the whole time, knowing and not caring a whit that she was demolishing every iota of independence and strength she had so carefully rebuilt and infused in herself in the past weeks. Rachel was tense and silent, one hand clenching Quinn's and the other tucked securely around her waist.

Rachel moved suddenly, jumping as her phone vibrated. Quinn grumbled sleepily, her head on Rachel's shoulder and eyes blissfully shut, as Rachel read the text message and snorted.

"What?"

"Santana," Rachel said, as if that explained everything.

Quinn took a deep breath. "What did she do?"

Rachel hesitated. "Are you sure you want to know? Sometimes ignorance is bliss." Her hand lifted up, fingers tangling absently in the ends of Quinn's hair.

"I'll find out somehow," Quinn said with a half-shrug.

"Fair enough," Rachel said. She sighed. "She… she told Finn and Puck."

Quinn bolted upright, drawing a surprised squeak out of Rachel, staring with wide eyes at the brunette. "Oh, God," she groaned. "Please tell me they aren't in jail."

"No," Rachel said quickly. Her eyes flicked over Quinn's shoulder, and she hopped up suddenly to flag a taxi that had appeared. Quinn followed her wearily into the cab, slumping on the cracked vinyl with a sigh.

"They didn't do anything stupid and violent, did they?" Quinn asked after a few minutes of silent driving.

"No," Rachel said. "According to Santana they—hold on." She fumbled for her bejeweled phone, finding the text message. "Egged his car and slashed his tires and—oh." Her eyes widened.

"Oh what?"

"They, uh," Rachel said slowly. "Well, it wasn't violent."

"What did they do, Rach?"

"She just said they 'scared the hell out of him'. I don't know exactly what that entails, but Puck is prone to setting things on fire, so I'm a little weary."

"God," Quinn mumbled. "I really hope they don't get arrested." She sighed tiredly, slumping against Rachel. Even in her frustration with her friends' tendencies towards dramatic action, she couldn't deny that it was nice to know that they were watching out for her.

The rest of the cab ride passed with Quinn leaning against Rachel, staring out the windows at a city she'd never seen before. Rachel's dorm was, Quinn noted with relief, mostly empty as they made their way up to the fourth floor.

"Where's your roommate?" Quinn asked, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Home for the weekend," Rachel said. She toed her shoes off and placed them primly in the closet. "She goes back to see her boyfriend every weekend."

"Right," Quinn said absently.

Rachel moved to sit on the edge of her bed, pulling Quinn down to sit next to her. "Will you tell me what happened?" she asked softly, fingers twined with Quinn's gently.

"Didn't Paul or Eric tell you?"

"None of the details," Rachel said. She bit her lip. "I've never heard Daddy so angry before. He just told me that your father showed up and there was a huge fight and things got bad."

Quinn sighed, staring down at their enjoined hands. "He found out from one of the Cheerios' parents that Puck was the father, and about you and me dating. He… he said he didn't know what was worse, that I got pregnant by a Jewish boy or that I was dating a girl." She deliberately avoided the hateful names he had called Rachel, the swell of protective instinct rising once more and leaving her unwilling to voice them.

"He said he was going to send me away," she went on slowly. "So I could be fixed. He—he grabbed me and I was trying to get away and he just… I don't know." She stood from the bed, nervous energy suddenly filling her veins, and started to pace up and down the small room. "I was trying to get him to let go and my mom was trying to help and Eric was trying to get him to let go of me without anyone getting hurt and he just… I don't know, I didn't even see it coming, but I heard this _slap_ and my whole face hurt and everything just… stopped." She wrung her hands together, eyes wide and focused on the ceiling as she tried not to cry again.

"He looked guilty," she whispered. "Right after he did it. He was still yelling, but it was like it was more instinctive, like his heart wasn't in it."

"Quinn," Rachel said sharply. "Don't try to excuse what he did."

"But—"

"No!" Rachel said, leaping to her feet. "Quinn, he _hit_ you. He is your father, and he'd already thrown you out of your home, which is inexcusable, and then he_ hit_ you. There is no possible way to justify it."

"I know," Quinn muttered. "I just… he's really gone now, you know? And I'm so _angry_ with him and I want to hit _him_ for the things he said, so I kind of understand how it happened." She flushed guiltily. "I was going to hit him, but Paul stopped me. Barely. And Eric _did_ hit him."

"Daddy hit someone?" Rachel said incredulously. "_My_ daddy punched someone?" She stared at Quinn dumbly, and Quinn felt the edges of a smile tugging at her lips.

"Yeah," she said. "Hard. He might have knocked a few teeth loose."

"Oh, goodness," Rachel mumbled. She shook her head. "What did he say that made Daddy hit him?"

Quinn clenched her jaw, shaking her head even as her chin slumped down. "I don't want to talk about it," she muttered darkly.

"Was it really that bad?" Rachel asked. Her voice was hesitant, more so than the situation warranted, and Quinn glanced up at her to see a pained look stretching across her features. Her hands clenched one, resting tensely atop the plaid material of her skirt, and Quinn could see where her fingernails were digging into her skin.

"No," she lied smoothly, desperate to steer the conversation away. Swallowing her discomfort, she moved to sit back down next to Rachel. "Can we just not talk about it? Please?" She reached out tentatively, fingers sliding over the back of Rachel's hands.

"Of course," Rachel said after a moment. She flashed a tight smile at Quinn and unwound her fingers, turning one palm up to grip Quinn's hand. She shifted, turning to sit facing Quinn; her forced smile faltered as her eyes darted immediately to the bruise under Quinn's eye.

Her free hand rose from where it was resting, coming towards Quinn, and Quinn instinctively jerked back, shoulders tightening defensively.

Rachel gaped at her, unmasked hurt radiating out of her eyes, and Quinn stared back, self loathing pushing through the sudden rush of adrenaline pumping out of her heart.

"Oh, my God," she mumbled. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Rachel said automatically. "I just… really, it's okay. Just… let me, please?" When Quinn remained silent, staring wide-eyed at her, Rachel raised her hand once more and reached forward, fingertips brushing gently over the bruised skin. Quinn clenched her hands atop her legs, holding as still as she could, as Rachel's fingers traced over the miniscule cut, the bluish tinge marring her pale skin.

"Thank you," Rachel mumbled, dropping her hand finally. She took a deep breath, looking down at her knees.

"You're welcome," Quinn said, voice soft, more out of instinct than any actual understanding of why Rachel felt the need to thank her. She stifled a yawn, unbearably fatigued after the flight and the cab ride and her horribly eventful Saturday morning.

"Can I take a nap?" The words slipped out before she realized it, and only after did she note how terribly childish they sounded. She blushed and smiled shyly when Rachel grinned at her, unexpected amounts of relief rolling out of her.

"Of course," Rachel said brightly. She hopped up, taking Quinn's bags and setting them ceremoniously on the floor by the closet before turning back and pulling Quinn to her feet gently in order to pull back the meticulously-tucked blankets.

"Thanks," Quinn mumbled, toeing off her shoes and slumping tiredly down onto the bed to curl up. Rachel pulled the blanket up over her shoulders, a minute trembling in her fingers evident as she smoothed her hands over the blanket, down the length of Quinn's arm.

"Of course," Rachel said again. "I have some reading I need to do, but if you need anything, just ask."

"Okay," Quinn said sleepily, already halfway asleep. She burrowed deeper into the pillow, inhaling the familiar smell of oranges, and yawned once more. "Thanks, love."

She felt a feather-light brush of fingers on her bruised cheek once more, then of Rachel kissing her forehead gently. A chair scraped against the faux-hardwood floors as Rachel settled down for her reading, and Quinn drifted the rest of the way off to sleep to the sound of Rachel absently humming.


	28. Chapter 28

Quinn slept until after lunch on Sunday, waking only when Rachel shook her shoulders gently and made her get up to eat. She charmed an uncertain Rachel into spending the rest of the day watching trashy television with her, and didn't leave the tiny dorm room the entire time.

Monday, Rachel's workshop classes started again, and Rachel prepared a novel-length email for each of her instructors explaining why she would be absent. Quinn managed to talk her out of sending them, insisting that she would be fine while Rachel went to her classes.

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked dubiously, even though she was halfway out the door, bag in hand.

"Positive," Quinn said. "I have a book and my laptop and my iPod and—"

"Quinn Fabray, if you even think about going for a run today, I will padlock you in the basement as soon as we get home."

Quinn blinked, staring at Rachel with a twinge of apprehension. "You're psychotic," she said matter-of-factly. The no-nonsense look in Rachel's eyes redoubled. "I didn't even bring my running shoes."

"Good," Rachel said cheerfully. She glanced at her watch and winced. Grabbing Quinn's hand, she pulled the blonde in for a brief kiss. "Stay out of trouble, okay?"

"Yes, mother," Quinn said, rolling her eyes. "Go away."

"I resent you referring to me as anything even remotely _maternal_," Rachel said distastefully. "It begs a whole host of disturbing questions and—"

"Oh, my God, why do I like you?" Quinn deadpanned. "Go away!" She kissed Rachel once more before shoving her out the door.

"Stay out of trouble!" Rachel half-shouted as Quinn shut the door in her face. Quinn rolled her eyes, turning back into the room and moving to settle on Rachel's bed after digging her laptop out of her bag.

Before her laptop was even fully running, her eyes drifted over to the cover of her prayer book, sitting haphazardly atop a stack of clothes from where she'd dug her laptop out of her bag. Without even thinking about it, she stretched out and grabbed it, pulling it towards her reverently. Her fingers traced of the gold cross embossed on the leather of the front cover, her name imprinted in matching gold on the bottom right corner. She slid her fingers through the pages, flipping through them absently. Notes and highlighting covered almost every sheet of paper; aside from the Bible gifted to her at age six by her grandmother—the Bible she had carried with her to every Sunday service, every Christ Crusader meeting, every Bible study group— the prayer book held more wear and tear, more handwritten notations, more dog-eared pages and worn edges than any other book she owned.

The cross that still hung around her neck felt heavy and cumbersome the moment her fingers traced over the matching insignia on the cover. Tearing her eyes away from the book in her hands, she glanced up at the gigantic wall map of Chicago that Rachel's roommate—who had stumbled into the room sometime around midnight, dumped her bag on her bed, and then made her way down the hall to a friend's room and not returned— had put up; she dug through her memories to the one trip to the city her family had taken when she was in grade school, the stop they'd made at Old St. Patrick's cathedral on their last day, and before she even noticed it, she was on her feet and sliding her prayer book delicately into her backpack. She scrawled out a note to Rachel and was out the door in less than a minute.

She got lost on the trains twice and was ignored by no less than a dozen people before someone was kind enough to give her proper directions. When she finally made it, grandiose stone architecture towered over her, and she felt infinitely tiny in its shadow; she shivered before making her way cautiously inside, stepping carefully with a fear of smiting that felt only a little bit ridiculous as she tugged her headphones out of her ears and stowed her iPod in her bag.

There were only two other people inside, a dozen pews apart with heads bowed silently in prayer. Quinn slipped into the first pew she came to, the hard wood uncomfortable and wonderfully familiar at her back. Hands resting limply in her lap, she stared at the crucifix in the front, flickering in the edges of the candlelight.

Carefully, she slid forward, dropping to her knees. Her hands came to rest automatically on the pew in front of her, fingers wound together, and her head slumped forward until her forehead rested on her arms. The familiar position opened the door to dozens upon dozens of unbidden memories of church services as a child, sandwiched between her sister and her father while they all prayed in a packed church, and her stomach clenched painfully tighter as each memory rolled through her.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled towards her knees. She didn't even know what specifically she was apologizing for—sleeping with Puck, lying to Finn, breaking apart her family, losing her child, dating a girl—but every one of her father's zealous accusations she was remembering broke her apart until the only thing that felt appropriate was to apologize to the God they had been fighting over.

She looked up at the crucifix in front of her, eyes feeling weighted with tears that wanted to spill over. "Out of the shadows I cry to you," she whispered. Her mind scrambled for the words she had memorized as a child. "Lord, hear my voice, let your ears be attentive."

She faltered, her throat tightening, and she swallowed the sob that was pushing its way up from her chest, and the rest of the psalm fell silent, her lips unable to produce the words she still knew by heart. Her head dropped down once more, chin coming to rest on her chest, and she gave up on speaking; instead, for the first time since her parents threw her out the year before, she prayed.

She had prayed every day of her life, until the night her father kicked her out of his house. Afterwards, bouncing from homeless to Finn's to Rachel's to the hospital, she had deliberately stopped her prayers, as certain that she needed find her way alone as she was that God would really come out to punish her if she dared ask for his help. She had gone to church a few times since then, but never once actually prayed, instead pursing her lips and ducking her chin as she silently emptied her mind while everyone else bowed their heads and asked God for forgiveness.

But now, slumped on her knees in a church in a strange city—torn between hating her father for hitting her and hating herself for falling so far short of his standards, between realizing that she was falling for Rachel and the persistent echo of her father's voice that said what they were doing was _wrong_, between determination to find her own way and the unbearable need to break down and beg God for forgiveness and help—she prayed. Though her voice eluded her, her lips moved with the words, breath coming shallowly and slowly between verses as she stumbled through prayer after prayer, psalm after psalm.

The ache in her knees and twinge between her shoulder blades told her she had been there for a long time when she felt someone slide into the pew next to her. Her shoulders tightened and she prepared herself for the smooth voice of an unfamiliar priest, and instead was surprised when a familiar hand reached out to cover where both of hers still rested on the pew in front of her.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn mumbled, not looking up.

"I found your note," Rachel said simply. "You didn't answer your phone, so I thought I'd see if you were still here."

Quinn finally looked up, pulling herself back to sit in the pew once more. She winced at the ache from kneeling on the stone floor. Rachel's hand stayed atop hers as she let them fall to her lap. "What time is it?" she asked.

"Almost three," Rachel said. She looked up at the crucifix for a long time, her thumb sliding absently along the back of Quinn's hand. "Are you okay?" she asked eventually.

"I guess," Quinn mumbled.

"Why did you come here?" Rachel asked.

Quinn shrugged automatically. "I don't know," she said slowly. "When I was little, we came up to Chicago, the week between Christmas and New Years. I think my dad had some business guy he needed to meet with or something. The last day, before we left, we came here and we all lit a candle and said a prayer."

"What are the candles for?" Rachel asked.

"Prayers," Quinn said. "Memories. People you've lost." Her eyes stayed locked on an empty pew six rows up and across the aisle from them, but she felt Rachel nod next to her.

"It's over," Quinn choked out suddenly. She swallowed. "He won't ever talk to me again."

Rachel stayed silent, gripping Quinn's hands tightly.

"Oh, God," Quinn said, her voice strangled and echoing in a church that was now empty except for them. "He's done with me. My mother's going to leave him. Devon won't speak to him, not if Mom tells her that he hit me. I broke my whole family apart."

"That's not true," Rachel said sharply.

"It doesn't matter," Quinn said. She sniffed. "It's done now, anyways."

"It does matter, because you can't blame yourself for other peoples' mistakes," Rachel insisted.

"It doesn't matter," Quinn said again. She looked tiredly over at Rachel, and the utterly helpless look on the brunette's face unexpectedly brought a half-smile to her own. She could practically see the cogs working in Rachel's head as the brunette struggled for something to say, and Quinn turned one of her hands over gently, lacing their fingers together.

"I'm going to be okay, Rach," she said softly.

"Are you?" Rachel asked, her voice somehow even quieter than Quinn's, so uncertain and quiet it seemed to disappear in the vast emptiness of the church. "You've been through so much in the last year. You lost a lot and—and this weekend was just—"

"I'm going to be okay," Quinn repeated. She sounded calm enough to surprise herself, and was even more startled to realize that she actually _felt_ as calm as she sounded. Somewhere in her hours of kneeling painfully, in the recitation of verses she thought she had forgotten mixed in with desperate pleas for forgiveness, she stumbled across a feeling of peace that she had only felt in the past months when Rachel kissed her, a feeling that had swept over her every time she stepped into a church as a child, one that had been painfully absent for months. "I'll be fine."

"But _how_?" Rachel asked desperately. "I don't mean to be cruel in saying it, but you've lost almost everything, and—"

"No, I haven't," Quinn interjected. She took a deep breath. "Look, you're half right, okay? Things have been really bad, with my family Finn and Puck and the baby and…"

Her voice trailed off, and her free hand habitually moved to press against her emptied stomach. She took another deep breath. "But look what I haven't lost. I've got my two best friends, even if they're off humping like bunnies half the time. I'm friends with Finn now, and having him as a friend might be even better than being in love with him. I've got a relationship with my mom and my sister that I'd never had before. I lost my dad, but I think both of yours are better at being my father than he ever was." She paused, tightening her grip on Rachel's hand and daring a glance up at the other girl; she was staring at Quinn, open and afraid with wide eyes and quiet tears.

"I found you," Quinn went on, voice trailing off to a whisper. "And you're more than I ever could have asked for or deserved." She moved her free hand over to where her other one grasped Rachel's, holding on tightly. "So, yeah, I think I'm going to be okay."

Rachel stared at her for long, slow moments, looking torn between incredulous and crying.

"I was right," she said suddenly. An impish smile spread across her lips. "You really are stronger than you think."

Quinn flushed, looking down at her knees. As she looked up to speak, hesitating as she debated between continuing to be sappy and switching to sarcasm, Rachel's phone suddenly rang shrilly, the polyphonic tones bouncing off of the countless hard surfaces of the church.

"Rachel!" Quinn hissed, mortified. "This is a _church_!"

"Sorry!" Rachel shot back, blushing brightly and digging in her purse for her phone. She fumbled with it, and it slipped out of her grip, dropping to the floor. A few of the flashy plastic jewels on it cracked off. "Shit," Rachel muttered, reaching down to retrieve them.

"_Rachel_!" Quinn said again. She looked around fervently, hoping desperately that no one else had walked in; thankfully, they remained alone in the empty building. "Don't swear in a _church_!"

"Sorry, sorry," Rachel muttered. "Jeez." She flipped the phone open, rolling her eyes at the missed call.

"That was Finn," she informed Quinn, sliding the phone back into her bag. "He's called me seven times today. He's very concerned. I think he wants an excuse to go commit more felonious acts against your father."

"Of course he does," Quinn groaned as she stood up. "He's been friends with Puck for too long."

Rachel stood as well, reaching out automatically and taking Quinn's hand once more. "They balance one another out," she said as she started to lead Quinn out of the church.

Quinn paused in the aisle, hand dangling from Rachel's, and looked back up at the crucifix. Untangling her fingers from Rachel's, she made her way up to the front of the church, where rows of unlit candles sat. Kneeling on the worn pillows, she extracted a long match from the holster and lit it, holding it to the wick of one of the candles until it flickered to life. She cast her eyes upwards, thinking of her unborn daughter, before moving to extinguish the match.

She paused, and lit a second candle. Looking up once more, she thought a silent prayer for her father, as much for her own sake as his, before putting out the match. Rachel was waiting back where Quinn had left her, and pulled Quinn's hand up to her lips for a moment before they made their way out of the church. As they made their way towards the train station, hands linked, they traded analyses of Finn and Puck's friendship and who had been more of an influence on whom.

After they had exited the train and were walking back up to Rachel's dorm, Rachel paused on the sidewalk.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked abruptly.

"Uh," Quinn said. "Sure?"

"You're okay with us," she said bluntly. "You were the president of the Celibacy Club, all about the Christ Crusaders and Sunday school. You used to quote the Bible at me and Noah whenever Passover came around."

"I… that's not a question," Quinn said defensively.

"How are you okay with us now?" Rachel said. "I mean, were you always just hiding your repressed sexuality with rude comments, or did you really believe it to be wrong, or do you still believe that? Are you going to have a crisis of faith if a priest or pastor tells you you're going to hell because you're with me?"

Quinn shrugged. "No," she said simply.

"'No'?" Rachel asked, skepticism clear in her voice.

"No," Quinn confirmed. She shrugged again. "I… there was a lot I didn't know. Right up at the top of that list was what God and church and all are really about."

"Please don't use that quote from the Gospel of John," Rachel interjected. "I get so terribly sick of people throwing that at me about why I should abandon Judaism and—"

Quinn cut her off, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. Pulling back enough to speak, she said, "No, not that one." She pulled back a little further, regarding Rachel levelly, with a sense of calm she wasn't sure how to handle but was overwhelmingly grateful for nonetheless.

"That one's about how everyone should love God because we owe him," she said. She shrugged. "I was going to go with 'above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins,' actually."

Rachel blinked again, clearly uncertain. "What's the difference?"

"It's not about how you think about God that matters," Quinn said simply. "It's what you think about other people. You can't love God if you don't love other people." She tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, brow furrowing as she struggled to translate her thoughts into words.

"The way I grew up, I thought that God was all about existing within the rules, bending them without breaking them. It's not about that. It's about people and how they interact with one another as people, not as competition for a spot in Heaven. If you love the people in your life, even when they make your life miserable, then it doesn't matter so much if you mess up or break some of the rules sometimes, because even if you do, you're probably doing it with good intentions."

Rachel gaped blatantly at her, mouth hanging slightly open. Quinn blushed, looking down at her shoes. "Does that answer your question?" she asked shyly.

"Yeah," Rachel breathed out. She flung her arms around Quinn's neck, gripping her tightly in a hug, face buried against Quinn's shoulder. Quinn's arms went instinctively around Rachel's waist, holding her just as tightly.

"I love you," Rachel whispered almost inaudibly in Quinn's ear. Quinn stiffened unintentionally, but Rachel kept her arms tight about Quinn's neck. "I'm not asking you to say you feel the same way," she added. "But I just wanted you to know."

Quinn stayed silent, simply tightening her arms around Rachel's waist, fingers digging lightly into Rachel's back through the material of her shirt.

They didn't move until Rachel's phone shrieked indignantly at them when Finn called for the ninth time that day and Quinn swiftly grabbed it from Rachel to convince him and Puck that stuffing her father's car with condoms filled with shaving cream and setting his mailbox on fire was unnecessary.

* * *

**Author's Note: **If you're curious about the religious references in here, Quinn is quoting 1 Peter 4:8 to Rachel. If you're wondering about semantic differences, it's probably because I pulled it from the New Oxford Annotated NRSV (New Revised Standard Version) instead of the King James that most people are familiar with. Because I was, like, a religion major, and that's what we used.

And the recitation earlier in the chapter is the beginning of Psalm 130, which I've always found to be one of the more poetic and beautiful Biblical passages around ("Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications. If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand? But there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered. I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning..."). Of all of the songs of ascents in the Bible that I read over the course of my academic career, that one has always stuck with me, and seemed eerily applicable to the position Quinn has found herself in. She's been through all sorts of shenanigans, the kind that would probably make Job wince at times, and slipped in her faith significantly, but the way I look at it, when someone that devout slips up and loses that much, things go one of two ways. She either turns away from God and religion entirely, considering it a base of most of her problems, or she turns back to face it and embrace it with a newer and more mature understanding.

Frankly, the way her character's been developed on the show and grown in this story, I could see her going either way; I dont' control a lot of what the characters in this story do (seriously... they have minds of their own. It's very distracting), but I did choose which way she turned in this circumstance. Because I don't think she'd ever really be entirely happy in her life if she turned her back on the faith that was such a huge part of her life for so long, and gosh darn it, I want her to be happy. Because she is made of win.

Also, angels.


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Note:** 1) I know it's been like a month since I updated this... yeah, see, the World Cup ate my soul and I've been stuck unable to write. Mostly because Spain finally won one and I may or may not have been drunk for the last two weeks, despite lacking any Spanish heritage.

2) This is a really big stinking chapter (seriously... it's like 9,000 and change) that I wanted to split up, but found it impossible to do so without it feeling super awkward. SORRY, Y'ALL.

* * *

Quinn barely made it onto her flight back to Ohio, bolting through security in the Chicago airport at record speed and once more blessing Cheerios' practice wind sprints as she darted through the crowd to her terminal, running horribly late after getting caught up arguing good-naturedly with Rachel outside of the security checkpoint. It was only when she heard the first boarding call for her flight—from a gate a ten minute walk away from security—that they realized how long they had been bantering flirtatiously in the middle of an airport, and Rachel had glanced at her watch, horrified, before shoving Quinn's bags into her hands and manhandling her into the security line.

"I'll see you in two weeks!" she shouted, jumping up slightly to see Quinn over the shoulders of the family who kindly let the hassled blonde in front of them in security. She waved wildly, a bright smile painting her features, and Quinn couldn't suppress the urge to roll her eyes when she looked back after clearing the metal detectors to see Rachel still bouncing up and down and waving.

Rachel pointed at her watch and motioned theatrically for Quinn to run; Quinn frowned when she looked at her own watch and, with a harried wave to Rachel and a muttered string of curses she would never admit to knowing, gathered her bags and shoes into her arms and started sprinting barefoot as the third boarding call rang out for her flight.

She was flushed and breathing heavily when she made it to her seat, gaining a disapproving glare from the man across the aisle from her and a good-natured smile from the flight attendant. With a sigh, Quinn jammed her overnight bag into the compartment above her seat and dropped down into the chair gratefully to finally put her shoes back on.

The flight back to Ohio went far quicker than the one three days earlier, and the overbearing weight of exhaustion and trauma and grief was absent from her shoulders as she strolled towards the baggage claim, headphones in and eyes locked on her phone as she tapped out snarky responses to the text messages Rachel and Santana and Finn had left her during the short flight.

"Fabray."

The low rumble of her name caught her attention, and Quinn slammed to a halt when she looked up to see Puck leaning against a column at the baggage claim, arms crossed over his chest and sunglasses propped atop his mohawk cockily. For a split second, the tiny part of her that had so easily fallen into bed with him warred with the overwhelming majority of her that was coming to terms with being in love with Rachel, and she admitted to herself that Noah Puckerman was, on occasion, unfairly attractive.

"Puck," she said quietly, yanking her headphones out of her ears. "What are you—"

"I talked to Rachel's dad," he interrupted. "Asked if I could come get you."

"Oh," she said faintly. She nodded, as if it made perfect sense. "Why?"

He pushed away from the column, moving to stand in front of her. His eyes flicked down from hers to the fading bruise and almost-healed cut gracing her cheekbone, and his jaw tightened. Coarse fingertips, roughened from years of weightlifting and guitar playing, appeared in front of her and traced over the injury, barely a breath away from her skin.

Quinn held stock still, fighting the instinct to flinch even then, and didn't dare breathe; for the first time in months, she ventured a look into his eyes. Steeling herself for a pounding wave of fabricated memories of a child who wasn't born, she was surprised when she saw not Sarah Noelle Puckerman, but just Puck, with unbridled frustration in his eyes and his jaw clenched tightly.

He dropped his hand down to his side, shoving it into his pocket; his eyes stayed locked with hers and she couldn't make herself look away.

"I need to tell you something," he said. "I guess I didn't get it until Santana told me what happened with your dad or whatever. But I figured it out now, and I want to tell you."

"Okay," she said slowly. She wished suddenly that they were anywhere but in an airport, somewhere quiet and private, because she felt like she was having far too many emotional moments in airports that week.

"I loved you," he said. It came out heavy, the words pushing into her and disrupting her balance; she instinctively curled her toes inside her shoes and physically braced her body, as if expecting a barrage of heavy wind to come and knock her over. "I told you when we hooked up that it wasn't just another thing for me, and it wasn't. I think I hated you for a while, for not believing me, but whatever. That's over. Finn was always the better guy, I wasn't, that's just how it is. But he's my boy, my best friend, and if I couldn't have you then I was okay with you being with him."

He yanked his sunglasses off of his head, rubbing one hand over his mohawk. Quinn stared at him, watching as his throat worked, and she wondered if he was trying not to cry.

"After—" He paused, swallowing visibly, and coughed loudly. "After Karofsky and the hospital and all that, I still loved you. What happened to us was shit, such shit, but I thought that maybe we had one good thing coming out of it, that we could put things back in place together. And we were both patching things up with Finn, so I figured that even if you and me didn't work out, you'd have him.

"But then you… then you went and hooked up with Rachel." His jaw clenched once more, and Quinn finally moved, her chin dropping slightly and shoulders slumping. "And I was so pissed, you know? Because it should've been me. You should've let me take care of you, even if you never had before, no matter how much I asked. I wanted to be that guy, I didn't want to be my dad, but you never gave me the chance. First it was Finn, and then I thought you'd give me a chance after him ,but instead you went to her. And I was so ticked off and I wanted to hate you both."

Quinn swallowed, chest tightening as she remembered the anguished look in his eyes when he slammed out of the choir room the day they told everyone, the fury as he glared at her and Rachel, the absolutely broken set to his shoulders when Finn had bodily dragged him out of his father's apartment. Months ago she'd wished that she could stop doing things that hurt Finn Hudson, and she felt a swell of guilt pressing over her at the realization that she should've been just as worried about doing things that hurt Noah Puckerman.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He shook his head, holding his hands up defensively. "Don't," he muttered. He took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his hair again. "That's not all I wanted to say," he ground out. He took another deep breath. "I was really pissed, you know? That you chose her over me, that you were so convinced that she was what you needed. But I was angry enough that I thought that maybe I could get over you. I've been hung up on you since the seventh grade, and as ticked off as I was that you went all Ellen on the world with Rachel freaking Berry, I also thought that that would let me get over you.

"Then Santana called me on Saturday, and sometime between fucking up that bastard's car and lighting his mailbox on fire, I figured it out." He smiled, thin and humorless, and looked her dead in the eyes.

"I'm never going to get over you," he said simply. "I've loved you for a long time, and I guess I probably always will. And you… you're never going to love me, are you? You loved Finn, and you love Rachel, but I won't ever be on that list."

Quinn stared at him, wide-eyed and oblivious to the tear that was threatening to slip down her cheek. "Puck," she choked out.

He shook his head. "I'm not trying to go all Jewish guilt trip on you or anything," he said. "I'm a good Jew, but not that good." He sighed heavily. "I just needed to say it. I love you, and I loved our daughter, and even if I find some smoking hot Jewish wife in the future, I think I'll always love you."

Quinn finally moved, her knees weak as she stumbled over to a row of plastic chairs and plopped down onto one of them. Her hands folded automatically into her lap, and she stared up at him incredulously. He looked like a completely different person than she'd even seen—he wasn't the nymphomaniac jock who threw people into dumpsters, or the guitarist who enjoyed glee more than he'd ever admit, or even the boy with the sad eyes who kissed her and took her to bed and promised to always be there for their daughter. He seemed smaller and quieter and far more morose than she'd ever seen him, and she had not the first clue how to handle this version of him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I'm so sorry." She sniffed, wiping at her eyes frustratedly and forcing herself to look up at him. He avoided her eyes, guilt and frustration marring his features as he stared at a spot on the floor between their feet.

"I wanted to be with you," she said, pushing the words out slowly. "Before—before we lost her. I really did. I wanted to keep her and I didn't want to do it alone. I wanted to get the hell out of Lima, but I wanted to do it with you and her and us as a family." A strangled sound escaped her throat, and one hand came up to cover her mouth as her shoulders started to shake. "I wanted that so badly, I can't even tell you. But—but then they told me she was gone and it was over and I just—ever time I looked at you, all I could see was her. And I hated myself, so much, and I didn't want to be a family without her."

"It's not your fault," he mumbled. "You have to know that."

"It doesn't matter," she said. Her hands trembled, and she shook her head when she thought she saw a shadowy bruise on his jaw, a creeping sense of déjà vu pushing at the edges of her consciousness and pulling her back toward the first time they had this same conversation. "I may or may not come to terms with that someday. But I just want you to know that I was falling in love with you. I never wanted to, I tried so hard not to, but I was, and I would have married you and we would have had a family with her. And I really think we could have been happy."

"We would have," he said solidly. "I'm not my dad." He said it forcefully, so much so that his whole body seemed to vibrate, his hands fisting visibly in his pockets. Quinn looked up at him and smiled even though she was crying, and his eyes drifted down to her cheek once more.

"And neither of us are our parents," he added. He rolled his eyes when she bit her lip and looked down at her knees. Sighing loudly, he dropped down onto a chair next to her, long legs splayed out. He knocked one knee against hers childishly. "You're not like them," he said. "You're better than they ever were. You'll be a hell of a mom one day."

Even staring at her knees, she could practically hear the smirk in his voice when he added, "And a totally smoking hot one, too. Hall of fame. Madonna's got nothing on you."

She laughed in spite of herself, reaching out blindly to swat at his leg, and the quiet chuckle she was rewarded with went miles towards loosening the tightness in her chest.

Long moments passed, and he finally pushed himself to his feet, holding out a hand to help her up. "We cool?" he asked.

She looked up at him, her mind slowly turning over the exchange they had just had, her conversation with Rachel on the sidewalks of Chicago, the acceptance her mother had offered, the altercation with her father, and finally, she nodded and accepted his hand. "Yeah," she said, standing. "We're good."

"Cool," he said. He nodded approvingly. "Now that we've got all that crap out of the way," he said, grabbing her bags and swinging them over one shoulder easily. "You need to know that, since we're like _friends_ and all now, and you're totally getting it on with a chick, that makes us bros. And you know what that means?"

"We're not _getting it on_," she mumbled, flushing brightly.

"Right," he said. He rolled his eyes cheekily as he backed out of the doors of the airport, pushing his sunglasses onto his nose. "Whatever you want to call it. The point is, me and you? We're bros. So that means you're going to have to start hanging out with me and Finn more, and drinking beer and playing video games and perving on underwear models with us."

"Puck!" she said. "I'm not a lesbian."

"Right," he said again. He shook his head as he hopped up onto the running board of his truck and stared at her from over top of the roof. "It's not like you're sleeping with Rachel Berry or anything."

"We're not—"

"Of course not," he said. He swung down into the truck and cranked the engine. "But you're basically like a dude now, is the point. A dude with boobs who I totally don't feel lame for staring at, but that's _not_ the point." He put an arm up to block her swinging hand before it connected with the back of his head and smirked. "The real point is that this weekend, you're totally chilling with me and Finn. I even bought another X-Box controller so you can play Halo with us!"

The ringing of her phone saved her from having to respond, and she smiled in spite of herself at Rachel's name flashing on the screen. Puck laughed softly, shaking his head when she blushed.

"You're stupid in love with that girl," he said sagely. She flushed darker, opening her mouth to argue—she was only seventeen, after all, and the last time she'd been in love with someone it had ended disasterously—but he just rolled his eyes. "Shut up and answer the phone, Fabray."

She smiled gratefully at him, accepting the call and putting the phone up to her ear. "Hey, you," she said.

"You were supposed to call me when you landed," Rachel said indignantly.

"I texted you!"

"A text message that adds to the long list of creative insults regarding my stature does _not_ count," Rachel said drily.

"Well, I thought it was funny," Quinn said.

"Quinn!" Rachel said. Quinn winced at the shrill edge to her voice, knowing the exact look on the brunette's face, and Puck smirked and suddenly reached out to snatch the phone away from Quinn.

"Puck!" Quinn said. "Give me that!" She reached out to grab the phone back, but he merely laughed, putting one hand on her forehead and holding her at arm's length.

"Chill out, Berry," he said into the phone. He blew a kiss at Quinn, who slumped back into her seat and stuck her tongue out sulkily. "I hijacked her at the baggage claim. We needed to have a chat." He paused, listening for a moment, before pulling the phone away from his ear and staring at it incredulously. "Berry, did you seriously just threaten to beat me up? You're like the size of a ferret. You can barely reach my nose to punch it."

Quinn snorted, and he winked at her, then winced at what sounded suspiciously like a shriek coming from the phone. "Seriously, dude, chill," he said. "Rachel! Shut up!"

Quinn raised an eyebrow as the shrill sounds emitting from the phone suddenly ceased, impressed. Puck smirked at her, raising one eyebrow arrogantly in return.

"Look," he said into the phone. "I wasn't trying to steal your girl, so chill out. I needed to tell her that if she ever lets someone hit her again I'm going to end up in prison for killing them, so she needs to cut that shit out. Also, she's, like, totally bros with me and Finn now, so this weekend she's going to come over and play Halo and drink beer with us. And maybe watch porn."

He pulled the phone away once more, one eye screwed shut at the indignant squawking coming from Chicago. Seemingly satisfied, he held the phone back out to Quinn.

"Rachel," she said, rolling her eyes and smacking Puck in the arm as he started out of the parking lot. "Rachel!" she half-shouted, finally getting the other girl to be quiet. "Calm down, will you? You're bordering on histrionic."

"_Histrionic_?" Puck mouthed at her. "Seriously? This ain't the SAT."

"Histrionic?" Rachel snapped. "Quinn, I am entirely within my rights as your girlfriend to be upset at the fact that the _boy who got you pregnant_ has decided to invite you over for beer and video games and _porn_ this weekend!"

Quinn put one hand over the phone as Rachel continued on and glared at Puck. "I'm totally going to kill you," she muttered darkly. He blew another kiss at her, smirking.

With a sigh, she returned to the phone. "Rachel," she said placatingly, trying to get a word in edgewise. "Rachel, love, come on, calm down. He was kidding."

"So was not!" he shouted. Quinn leaned over and slammed her fist into his bicep, grinning triumphantly when he actually let out an "Ow!" and looked at her incredulously.

"What was that?" Rachel said suddenly. "Who said ow?"

"Puck did," Quinn said. "I punched him."

"You punched him? Quinn, that's hardly an appropriate response."

"Are you kidding me? You just threatened to beat him up!"

"That was merely to make a point, we all know that any attempt at violence I would ever consider towards Noah would be laughable and—"

"Histrionic!" Quinn shouted. "See? You just proved me right."

"I did no such thing," Rachel said indignantly.

"You totally did," Quinn said. She shared a grin with Puck, who held out a hand for her to high-five. "I totally just won an argument."

"You cheated," Rachel said. The sulk in her voice was painfully obvious.

"Oh, come on, Rach," Quinn said. "Don't be a sore loser."

"I'm not," Rachel said, sniffing indignantly. "I'm just annoyed that you didn't call me when you said you would."

Quinn sighed. "I'm sorry?"

"You should be," Rachel mumbled. "But I'm glad you're home safe. And apparently are now—er—_bros_ with Puck and Finn."

"Uh, yeah," Quinn said. "Me too. I think."

There was a pause over the phone before Rachel spoke again. "I realize that it's childish of me, but I kind of wish you'd actually missed you flight. I don't care if it's sappy, I miss you."

"Yeah," Quinn said quietly, voice dropping inadvertently. "You, too." She studiously ignored Puck's probing stare. "But you'll be back in a few weeks, so…"

"Yeah," Rachel said. "Two more weeks."

"You know, if you guys want to have, like, lesbian phone sex, I'm totally cool with that," Puck interjected, loud enough to draw a scandalized squeak out of Rachel and another punch from Quinn. "Okay, seriously, Q, stop hitting me."

"Shut it, Puckerman!" Rachel shouted over the phone. Her voice rang in Quinn's ears, making the blonde wince. Quinn held the phone out to Puck.

"She wants to say something to you," she told Puck sweetly.

"No way, dude," Puck said. "She already screeched at me once. I get enough Jewish anger from my ma, I don't need it from her, too."

"Then don't make salacious comments like that to my girlfriend!" Rachel bellowed over the phone. A brief blank look passed over Puck's face at the word "salacious", and Quinn rolled her eyes, pulling the phone back and trying to slide a word in somewhere in Rachel's current rant.

"Rach," she tried. "Rachel!" She rolled her eyes. "Rachel Berry, I will hang up this phone right now if you don't stop!"

Puck looked at her, eyebrows creeping up above his sunglasses. "That really worked?"

"Yep," Quinn said. She returned her attention to the phone. "Rach, love, calm down. It's Puck, you know he likes screwing with us. It's what he does."

"I'm going to shave off his stupid mohawk when I get home."

"I'll help," Quinn promised. She stuck out her tongue at him, and he shrugged, turning his attention back to the road.

"You'd better," Rachel muttered. "Very well. I have some work I need to get done. I assume I'll speak to you later tonight?"

"Yes, ma'am," Quinn said. "Don't work too hard."

"Don't go running tonight," Rachel shot back. "And don't let Puck get you into too much trouble."

"I won't," Quinn said. "Promise."

"Take care," Rachel said softly. "I'll talk to you later."

"Later," Quinn echoed. "Bye, love."

Puck was silent for long seconds after Rachel hung up and Quinn set her phone down on the console. When he finally spoke again, the mirth was gone from his voice, his hands tight on the steering wheel and gearshift.

"Does she know?" he asked quietly.

"Know what?"

"That you're in love with her," he said. He pulled his sunglasses off, turning to face her as he slowed to a stop at a red light. "Have you told her?"

Quinn looked down at her hands, flushing delicately. Though it had become abundantly clear to her, at some point between making the unconscious decision to side with Rachel unquestioningly over her father and the hours she'd spent alone in a church in a strange city, that she was as in love with Rachel as she ever had been with Finn, or come close to being with Puck, it still made her chest pound heavily with trepidation. She had loved Finn as best as she knew how, and had wound up hurting him horribly; she still loved her father irrevocably, but would probably never speak to him again after letting him down so thoroughly; she had loved her daughter with everything she had, and still been unable to protect her. Her stomach ached with the thought of Rachel becoming another statistic in her wake.

"No," she said carefully. "Not yet."

"Has she told you?"

"How do you know she is?" Quinn retorted, desperate to direct the conversation away from her incapability.

Puck snorted. "Q, that girl would go to the moon for you. There's no way she's anything but in love with you." He smirked when Quinn looked at him skeptically, and rolled his eyes. "When are you going to stop underestimating me? I'm not as dumb as you think."

Quinn sighed. "No," she said softly. "You're not." Even as she said it, she fought a swell of distaste at the relief she felt that, even if he really wasn't dumb at all, he still wasn't perceptive enough to read her mind perfectly.

"And she did. She has. Told me. She said she wasn't asking me to—to say I felt the same way. But that she wanted me to know."

"You know that's not the truth," he said, his voice just as quiet. "She's going to want you to say it."

"I know." She swallowed. "I just—I don't know. I guess I'm scared."

Puck shrugged and scoffed. "You're Quinn fucking Fabray," he said brashly. "You've got, like, balls of steel. Just say it."

He dumped the clutch as the light turned green, laying down a layer of rubber on the asphalt behind them as they roared into the Lima city limits. Quinn remained silent, staring at familiar streets as they flashed by as they made their way to the Berry household.

In the driveway, he hopped out of the cab of the truck and handed her the bags he'd stowed in the backseat. "Just say it, dude," he advised. "If I can say it, why can't you?"

"Because," she said softly before she could stop herself. "I break everyone I love. What if I break her, too?"

"You won't," he said, without a second's hesitation.

"You don't know that."

He shrugged and smiled good naturedly. "Nah," he admitted. "But I do know that you're so scared of it that you're going to be, like, super careful not to hurt her. Which means you probably won't."

Quinn stared up at him, wishing for a single desperate second that she could have loved him the way he loved her, that they could have been the family they both wanted, that things could have gone their way; the second passed fleetingly, though, and instead she unthinkingly stepped forward and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you," she whispered into his shirt, fingers tightening against his back. She held on tighter as his arms wrapped around her waist just as tightly, holding her closely.

"She's good for you," he said into her hair. "If I can't have you, you deserve that much."

"Thank you," she whispered again.

He nodded, arms tightening even more around her. "And if you guys want to have a threesome, I'm like totally down with that," he said in the same quiet voice. "Or, like, make a movie with Brittany and Santana. Or—_ow!_"

He leapt back, rubbing the back of his head where she'd slapped him. "Seriously, you need to cut that out!"

"Right," she said dryly. She gathered her bags. "I'll consider it. Thanks for the ride, Puck."

"Sure," he said easily. He hopped back into the truck, revving the engine. "Friday! Beer and Halo and porn! My place at nine, don't be late!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," she deadpanned as he backed out of the driveway. He saluted her comically from the street before gunning the engine and disappearing down the block.

That night, when Rachel's phone call interrupted Quinn doing yoga on her bedroom floor, Quinn sat propped against the side of her bed for an hour listening to Rachel ramble contentedly about her afternoon classes, half of her attention focused on Rachel's voice and the other half trying to screw up the courage to follow Puck's advice. But when Rachel prepared to say goodnight, all Quinn could muster up was a soft "I miss you" as she inwardly cursed her inability to speak aloud what she actually wanted to say.

Every phone call for the remainder of Rachel's days in Chicago followed the same pattern, and despite the cheerful face Quinn put on around Rachel's parents, or the no-nonsense captain façade she perpetuated all day long with the Cheerios, she slipped slowly into self-doubt and distaste, convinced more than ever that her love was the kind that reduced the best people to rubble in its wake.

Somehow—both surprisingly and not—it was in Puck she confided her fears the few times she could bring herself to speak of them out loud. Instead of going to the best friends she'd had her whole life in Brittany and Santana, or the stalwart pillar of support and camaraderie Finn had grown into, Quinn found herself capable of acknowledging her apprehensions and self-loathing only in the security of Puck's basement, the familiar sound of computerized gunfire echoing around them as Puck systematically dismantled faceless strangers in Halo.

A week before the school years started, Rachel flew back to Ohio, and Quinn stood dumbly by the driver's side of her car on the street in front of Puck's house, clenching her keys tightly as the sound of Santana and Puck's voices telling her to buck up and get going was drowned out by a rolling thrill of fear at the possibility that the moment she saw Rachel in person she would burst out into a romantic sonnet and accordingly doom Rachel to a shattered heart.

She didn't realize she'd mumbled it aloud until she realized that Puck and Santana were staring at her incredulously.

"Sonnet?" Santana said slowly.

"Doom?" Puck echoed. His brow furrowed. "Who the hell says the word _doom_ unless they're, like, talking about the video game?"

Santana rolled her eyes, elbowing him away as she stepped up to Quinn, snapping her fingers in Quinn's face. "Get a grip, dumbass," she said. She crossed her arms and flicked her ponytail over her shoulder. "You can't break her that badly no matter _how _bad you mess up. Nobody loves anyone that much. Don't flatter yourself."

"Hey," Puck said warningly. He was overwhelmingly protective of Quinn now, possibly more so than when she was carrying his daughter, and the past two weeks had born witness to more spats between him and Santana than their entire history combined.

"It's true," Santana sniffed. She sneered at Puck elegantly. "In case you missed the memo, this is high school, kids. We're teenagers. Taking yourself that seriously in _high school_, about a _high school_ relationship, is about as idiotic as thinking that Kurt Hummel is straight."

"Um, what the hell is the deal with you and Brittany, then?" Puck challenged, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.

Santana scoffed. "That's different," she said, a dark look crossing her features as she glared at Puck. Quinn looked back and forth between the two of them and contemplated speaking up on Puck's side—because even the oblivious Principal Figgins could see that Brittany and Santana were as close to soul mates as ever actually graced reality—but a second glance at Santana glowering at the both of them kept her mouth from opening.

Santana's gaze softened the tiniest bit as she met Quinn's wide and uncertain eyes. "Come on, Q," she said lowly. "This isn't you. You don't flip out like this, you hear? You man up and go get Berry from the airport. If you tell her you love her—which you _so_ shouldn't, because she's the very definition of ridiculous—then it's not the end of the world. You don't have, like, a black magic love jinx hanging over your head, because that crap doesn't _exist_."

Ignoring Quinn's involuntary warning grumble at the comment about Rachel, Santana reached around Quinn and yanked the car door open. It smacked into Quinn's back, and Santana smoothly caught her around the waist as she stumbled and levered her bodily into the car.

"Hey!" Quinn snapped. "Watch the manhandling, S."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Santana muttered. She rolled her eyes. "Key in the ignition, there you go. Now turn it and—"

"Shut up," Quinn and Puck said in unison. Santana smirked triumphantly as Quinn started the car nonetheless.

"Drive safe," Santana said, a saccharine smile gracing her lips; despite the mocking expression, though, Quinn was wholly aware of the genuine support in her eyes.

"Don't forget," Puck said, pushing Santana out of the way. "We're having a party tomorrow night."

"Don't forget?" Quinn said, blinking. "How can I have forgotten something that you just told me for the first time?"

"Quinn," he said slowly. "We're having a party. Tomorrow night. Here."

"You're clever," Quinn deadpanned. She pulled the car door shut, sticking her tongue out at Puck and rolling her eyes when Santana blew her a mocking kiss.

The drive to the airport disappeared faster than she wanted it to. Quinn found herself standing uncomfortably at the baggage claim, fidgeting with her keys as she shifted her weight back and forth, her eyes locked on the escalator Rachel would appear on at any moment. Her limbs felt jittery and detached, and she flexed up onto the balls of her feet and back down repetitively, the familiar need to run, feet pounding into the pavement in a comforting rhythm, washing over her.

Her attention taken up so fully by her nerves, Quinn completely missed Rachel's appearance, oblivious to her waves and cheerful greetings until the brunette stood in front of her with her arms crossed in annoyance.

"Quinn!" she said sharply. "It's very rude to ignore your girlfriend when she returns home from a summer of separation."

"Huh?" Quinn said, blinking slowly and shaking her head at Rachel's sudden presence. "When did you—what?"

Rachel glared at her, even going so far as to stomp one foot melodramatically, if quietly, against the carpeted floor. "Quinn Fabray," she said. "Are you on drugs? Have you been staying up all night drinking beer and playing childishly violent video games? Has Puck turned you into a pot head in the last two weeks? I swear on all that is holy, I'm going to shave his mohawk and—"

"Rachel!" Quinn intervened. "I'm not stoned. Jeez. And I don't stay up all night playing Halo." She rolled her eyes. "I'm, like, impressively bad at it."

Rachel only continued to glare at her, arms crossed petulantly and a pout replacing her glare, and Quinn's nerves faded away, replaced by a familiar feeling of affection.

"Hi," she said shyly, stepping closer.

"Hey," Rachel said begrudgingly.

"How was your flight?"

"Long," Rachel said. "I made the most of it that I could, though, and compiled a finalized presentation for Mr. Scheuster to look at regarding this year's Sectionals."

"Right." Quinn nodded solemnly. "Of course you did. I watched _Stick It _on my laptop on my flight back."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "For someone as intelligent as I know you to be, you have horrendously stupid taste in movies."

Quinn scoffed. "Don't hate," she said with a smirk, and it grew into a smile when Rachel rolled her eyes once more. Rachel's crossed arms finally fell, and Quinn stepped in and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I missed you," she mumbled into Rachel's hair.

"You, too," Rachel whispered back, her arms just as tight around Quinn's waist. "I've been worried about you."

"I'm okay," Quinn said, pulling back and sliding her fingers through Rachel's as she tugged the other girl over to where luggage had started emerging on the conveyer belts. "Really. I haven't had a nightmare in a while."

"Oh, my concern was much more superficial than that," Rachel said cheerfully. "I was afraid Puck was going to charm you into his bed again."

Quinn shot her an annoyed glare. Rachel smiled cheekily and stepped around Quinn, taking ahold of her giant duffel bag and attempting to pull it off the conveyer belt. Quinn watched, disgruntled and amused, as the bag dragged Rachel along a few steps; she rolled her eyes and smirked when Rachel squeaked indignantly, and finally stepped forward to nudge Rachel out of the way and swing the bag onto the floor.

When they were halfway home, caught up in an easy conversation about the upcoming school year and balancing classes with glee and practices and college applications, Quinn suddenly turned to Rachel at a stoplight and blurted out, "Do you still not trust me?"

Rachel, halfway into a description of the schedules she intended to draw up for both of them, fell abruptly silent and stared at her incredulously. "My intention in creating a schedule for us has nothing to do with trust and everything to do with—"

"Not that. What you said at the airport," Quinn said uncomfortably. "About Puck. Did you think I would actually cheat on you?"

"Quinn, I was joking," Rachel said, her voice quiet.

"Do you still not trust me?" Quinn asked again. She hated the vulnerability creeping under her voice and into her words, and was grateful when the light turned green and she could return at least some of her attention to something besides Rachel. "You didn't trust me when I rejoined the Cheerios."

"I didn't have all of the facts," Rachel said carefully. "Had I known from the start that you were doing it to help out Brittany and Santana, I never would have doubted you."

"But you did," Quinn said. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, and she was thankful for the mirrored sunglasses she had stolen from Puck that were hiding her apprehensive eyes from Rachel. "And you're not answering me now."

Rachel sighed, turning to look out the window as she seemed to mull over her words. Quinn counted the seconds that ticked by, wishing desperately for Rachel to turn to her and laugh brightly and say that Quinn was being humorously paranoid in her questioning.

"It's a fair question, I suppose," Rachel finally said. "And more than anything I want to say that, because I love you, I trust you unconditionally. But I refuse to lie to make either of us feel better, and I must admit that a small part of me remains afraid that you're going to be the one who walks away."

"That's not fair," Quinn said lowly. "I don't know what else you want me to do to prove that I'm in this all the way. I don't know what I _can_ do."

"Neither do I," Rachel whispered. "I just need time, okay? No, I didn't honestly think that you would cheat on me with Puck, or Finn, or anyone else. But my apprehensions are not completely ungrounded, I think, and I'm doing everything I can to work through them."

"What do I need to do?" Quinn kept her eyes locked on the road, scared more than ever that admitting to Rachel how she felt would be the last piece of deadweight to drag the other girl down, convinced that she was fated to break Rachel's heart eventually no matter what and that Rachel would be even more broken if she knew that Quinn had done so even while loving her. Every moment of fear she had battled against for the past weeks, every nagging thought that her love was an inevitable catastrophe for everyone involved, melded together into a heavy feeling of molten dread lodged in the pit of her stomach.

"I just need time," Rachel repeated. "I'm almost there, okay? I love you and we're good together and we're working through everything. It just takes some time."

"It feels like we're just going in circles," Quinn muttered. She felt torn, half of her desperate to break the continuous cycle of arguments and miscommunication by just voicing what she'd said to Puck countless times in the past weeks, the other half stubbornly insisting that doing so was a surefire was to bring about a disaster that neither of them could prevent.

"We're not," Rachel said. Her voice was stronger than Quinn expected, and she couldn't help flinching instinctively when Rachel reached over to take her hand. Even after two weeks of being manhandled childishly by Finn and Puck, she still jumped like a frightened rabbit when someone touched her unexpectedly.

Her chest tightened when she heard Rachel sigh softly at Quinn's actions. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's okay," Rachel said. "I know that you know I won't hurt you. You just need more time to overcome the trauma."

"I'm getting better," Quinn said, defensiveness creeping into her voice. She turned her hand over in Rachel's, gripping tightly, as if to prove her recovery by holding Rachel's hand.

"You are," Rachel said. Quinn chanced a look over at her, and the invisible clamp on her chest loosened at the way Rachel was smiling, quietly and fondly, across the car at her. "You really are."

The rest of the ride passed in silence, and Quinn trailed after Rachel up the stairs to the brunette's room without thinking about it. She sat down primly in the chair sitting in front of Rachel's desk, spinning around idly once and twirling her keys on one finger.

"Are you going to help me unpack, or are you just going to observe?" Rachel asked, hands on her hips and one eyebrow canted. Quinn smirked in response, halting the chair midway through a second spin.

"Captain's don't _do_," she intoned. "We delegate."

"And you wondered why I didn't like you being a cheerleader," Rachel muttered. She glared at Quinn before turning on her heel and starting to pull clothes out of her suitcase. Quinn swallowed a giggle at the offended set to Rachel's shoulders and the annoyance she was directing at each piece of clothing she yanked from the bag.

"Don't laugh at me," Rachel mumbled.

"I'm not," Quinn said. "You're just kind of adorable and I can't help it."

Rachel blushed, almost as darkly as Quinn did, as the words slipped out to hang between them. A small smiled curled Rachel's lips up, and Quinn stilled her hand, keys falling limply against her palm as she stared at a spot on the wall somewhere to Rachel's left.

"I don't understand why you always get so flustered when you say things like that," Rachel said, dropping down to sit on the foot of her bed. "It's not like the fact that you like me, or find me attractive, is any kind of secret between us."

Quinn shrugged, finding fascination in her fingernails in an attempt to avoid Rachel's gaze. She heard Rachel sigh and rustling as she stood up.

"It shouldn't embarrass you," Rachel said, sounding tired.

"I'm not embarrassed," Quinn said. The denial escaped into the air before she could stop it, and she clamped her mouth shut.

"Quinn," Rachel said archly. "You've been living with me since December. We're around each other _constantly_, and I happen to excel at reading the minutia of human interaction when I put my mind to it—which I always do when you're involved. And you get embarrassed and flustered every time you say something like that."

"It's not that I'm embarrassed," Quinn mumbled. "I'm scared." Her eyes widened, and she wondered when exactly it was that she had completely misplaced her internal filter, because she couldn't remember a single instance in her life before dating Rachel that she had been so incapable of controlling her words.

Rachel paused in folding a shirt, looking up at Quinn quizzically. "You're scared?" she asked slowly. "Of what?"

Quinn looked back down at her hands, fidgeting with her keys nervously. Two weeks of Puck propping her up, encouraging her to own up to the fact that she was—as he put it—stupid in love with Rachel warred against six months of debilitating fear that the moment she admitted such things aloud would be the moment she set them up to fail. Santana's sneered declarations from earlier in the afternoon floated through Quinn's head, and Quinn wondered if her best friend was right in her conviction that Quinn was not, in fact, a love jinx.

Taking a deep breath and gathering her courage, Quinn swallowed and gathered her courage. "I'm scared that I'm going to hurt you," she said carefully. "Because I think it's just some given by-product, that I end up hurting people who love me, people who I love. Because I don't want to hurt you, but I don't think I know how not to."

"Quinn, you're no more likely to hurt me than I am to hurt you," Rachel said. "This is a risk in all relationships. We both knew that coming into this."

"You don't have my track record," Quinn said quietly.

"Maybe not," Rachel said. "But I have just as many flaws as you do. Even I'm not egocentric enough to think that I don't." Her self-depreciation drew a tiny smile from both of them, though Quinn continued to keep her eyes locked on her hands, convinced that she wouldn't be able to continue speaking if she looked at Rachel.

"The fact is," Rachel went on. "We're both stubborn, and headstrong, and we have incredibly different views on a lot of things. We argue a lot, I know. But we've worked our way through every argument we've had, and we've done so on our own, without the pushing or prodding of anyone else. For all of our flaws, we somehow seem to fit together, for who knows what reasons, and that means more than you being convinced that you're cursed or something."

Rachel appeared in Quinn's line of sight suddenly, kneeling in front of Quinn's chair and covering fidgeting fingers with her own. Quinn bit down on her lower lip, determinedly not looking up to Rachel's eyes and instead keeping her gaze focused on her hands, now wrapped within Rachel's delicately.

"I could be wrong," Rachel said softly. "But I think that you want this to work as much as I do. And that's what matters, more than anything else. If we want to make this work, if we both put the effort into making it work, then it will."

"You don't know that," Quinn mumbled. "You can't know that." She slumped back in the chair, her head falling back as she stared at the ceiling. "I think we spend more time fighting than anything else."

"Quinn, we've known one another since the sixth grade, and our relationship has been adversarial that entire time. Even when we were friends, we bickered."

"How is that a good thing?" Quinn shot back.

"It can be a good thing if we make it one!" Rachel said resolutely. "It can either be a bad thing if we let it dominate everything and get angry at one another every time we disagree, or it can be a good thing if we use it to work through things and learn about one another. The fact that we argue doesn't have to mean anything except that we both continue to hone our debating skills."

Quinn jerked away, shoving her way to her feet and starting to pace restlessly in the small area of clear floor. "This isn't some romance novel, Rachel," she said desperately. "You can't just _want_ thinks to work out for the best and then magically have it happen."

"That's not what I'm saying," Rachel ground out. "I didn't say it would be easy. It hasn't been easy since we got together, you know that as well as I do. We've had some pretty epic fights. But like I already said, _we got through them_. That matters more than fighting!"

"No," Quinn said, shaking her head repeatedly. "It isn't that easy. Nothing is that easy."

"Why are you fighting this?" Rachel half-shouted. "Why is it that every time we start to get closer, you react by pushing me further away?"

"Because!" Quinn snapped. "Because I don't want to hurt you."

"And I don't want to hurt you, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to keep you at arm's length in some silly attempt to prevent it from happening."

"It's not silly," Quinn shot back. "I hurt everyone who matters. I loved my family more than anything, and I broke them apart completely. I loved Finn and lied to him and screwed him over completely. I loved Puck and broke his heart, I loved our daughter and she _died_. It's a pattern and I can't ignore it and I love you too much to think that I won't do the same thing to you, too!"

Rachel's hands dropped from where she had been gesturing with them, her eyes widening even more than usual as she stared at Quinn, who felt the blood drain out of her face and her head start to spin. Her words hovered in the air between them, and Quinn fought the urge to run away as she determinedly looked anywhere but at Rachel.

"You know," Rachel said slowly. She finally caught Quinn's eyes, and the smallest uptick of one corner of her mouth tempered the spinning in Quinn's head. "I'm fairly certain that if you would just _tell me_ these things when you think them instead of bottling them up so they come bursting out violently, we would have fewer fights."

The blood rushed back to Quinn's head, her cheeks heating up, and she dropped her gaze to the floor, mumbling incoherently.

"What?" Rachel asked, brow furrowing as she tried to decipher Quinn's words. Even in her puzzlement, she was looking at Quinn with an overjoyed look in her eyes.

"I said," Quinn offered at a more accessible volume. "That I didn't want to say it. Which is why I hadn't."

"Why didn't you want to?" The cheerful look in Rachel's eyes faded, apprehension growing steadily to replace it.

"Because I'm a love jinx," Quinn muttered under her breath. She clamped down on her lower lip, stubbornly avoiding Rachel's eyes still.

"You're a _what_?" The incredulity was anything but subtle in her voice. "Quinn, firstly, that's insane, because such things don't exist. Secondly, it's ridiculous and sounds like the name of either a bad romance novel or a pornographic film. Thirdly, even if neither of the above were true, they would be moot points, because _you are not a jinx._"

"Am too," Quinn said obstinately, lifting her chin to stare at Rachel. "Look at what's happened to the people I loved. I cheated on and lied to Finn. I sent Puck spiraling out of control, to the point where he ran away to his abusive Lima-loser dad. I singlehandedly dismantled my family. I loved all of them, and I broke them all."

The words felt strangely light as they passed her lips, and her entire body curved down in on itself as she slumped, resigned to having the fear she'd been struggling with for months out in the open.

Rachel sighed. "Quinn, you made mistakes with Finn and Puck, but the circumstances were extenuating and extraordinary in both cases. We both know that. And _nothing_ that happened with your father is your fault, _at all_." She crossed her arms over her chest with finality, staring at Quinn intently. The blonde shifted uncomfortably, feeling Rachel's eyes on her even when her head was tilted down towards the floor tiredly.

"And, more important than any of those former points," Rachel added quietly. "Is the fact that even if they were all true—which they aren't!—I wouldn't care. Somehow in the last year, you went from being a rival to a teammate to a friend to a girl I'm very much in love with. I don't care if you think you're some kind of romantic curse, because I love you and I want to be with you."

"I don't want to hurt you," Quinn whispered, repeating the words that had echoed over and over in her mind for months.

"It's going to happen," Rachel said. "And I'll hurt you. That's just how things work, okay? We're in a relationship. No matter if you love me or not, something you say or do will eventually hurt me. And no matter how much I love you, something I say or do will eventually hurt you. But that's not the part that matters, because people hurt each other all the time. What matters is that we love each other and we do what we can to avoid the hurt, and when we can't avoid it, we work through it.

"Don't you remember what you told me in Chicago, about life and people and God? 'Love covers a multitude of sins.' It's entirely true." Rachel parroted the words back to Quinn stubbornly, arms crossed over her chest in triumph at the way Quinn's resolve slowly started to crack.

Quinn shook her head half-heartedly. "It really can't be that simple." A lifetime of complex rules and restrictions, from as far back as she could remember in her childhood and up through school and church and cheerleading to her present predicament, had done nothing but tell her that life was anything but simple and that love was always the most complicated facet of it all.

"It can be," Rachel responded. She smiled, the emphatic gleam from her speech fading as she smiled softly and moved to sit at the foot of her bed. Reaching out, she wrapped one hand around Quinn's where it hung limply at her side and tugged her down to sit on the bed as well. Quinn slumped tiredly, a loud breath escaping her lungs. "And just simple doesn't mean easy, you know. They mean two very different things."

Rachel's fingers slid between Quinn's, tightening around her hand. Quinn stared down at her knees, brow furrowed as she turned Rachel's words over in her head repeatedly. Her head ached, the past minutes battling against the past weeks of apprehension and the preceding years of restriction and confusion and frustration. Though the bruise on her cheek had long since vanished, she felt a sudden phantom ache as she fought to quash the reactionary sound of her father's voice condemning both her and Rachel.

It wasn't until Rachel squeezed her hand gently that she snapped back to reality. "So what now?" she said quietly.

"I don't see that anything has changed," Rachel said. "I love you and you love me, and all that's different now is that we finally got you to admit it." She giggled when Quinn rolled her eyes at the lofty tone in her voice. "We're still together. So, now we just go on with our lives. Together."

"Together," Quinn murmured. She chewed on her lower lip, eyes locked on their interlocked hands pensively. "I need you to be patient with me," she added suddenly. "Please."

"I'm an astoundingly patient person, Quinn," Rachel said immediately. "I'm offended that you might insinuate that I'm anything but—"

"Shh," Quinn admonished. A small smile played across her lips at Rachel's indignant look. "What I mean is that I'm… I'm scared. And my instinct when I'm scared is to be a bitch. So just… please don't get too upset at me if I flip out and get bitchy with you or something."

"I'm scared, too, you know," Rachel said. "To date, my longest standing relationship was with Puck, who was only dating me because I was Jewish and he couldn't have you. That only lasted like a week."

Quinn rolled her eyes, scoffing at the mention of the two of them together. Rachel giggled quietly.

"The point is, I'm just as scared as you are. I don't want to hurt you, either, any more than you want to hurt me. I've been an only child for my entire life, and I clearly have never been good at sharing attention in any arena. But I'm certain that I love you enough to displace that pathological need to be the center of attention."

"Pathological?" A smile quirked at her lips.

"Something like that," Rachel mumbled, blushing.

"Right," Quinn said teasingly. She leaned over and kissed Rachel's cheek, hand sliding free so her arms could move to embrace the smaller girl.

"Thank you," she mumbled into Rachel's hair.

"You're welcome," Rachel said politely, arms tight around Quinn's waist. Seconds ticked by slowly and Quinn relaxed against Rachel, inhaling the familiar scent of oranges contentedly.

"Quinn," Rachel said eventually, voice even. Quinn made a discontented noise, too sleepy in her relaxation to form a full response. "As touching as all this is," she went on. "Can I kiss you now? It's been weeks."

Quinn snorted. "You're such a guy," she muttered into Rachel's hair, pulling back nonetheless so Rachel could shrug before leaning up to press a kiss to her lips.

"Someone had to say it," Rachel breathed out, kissing her again. "And you clearly weren't going to take the initiative."

"I was getting there," Quinn said defensively.

"Quinn," Rachel said crossly. "Stop talking."

"Puck wants a threesome," Quinn shot back. She snorted as Rachel immediately shot up from the bed to retrieve her phone from the desk, and reclined back on her elbows to watch with raised eyebrows as Rachel spent the next twelve minutes berating Puck over the phone. A warm, soft, horribly sappy feeling spread from her chest and throughout her body as she watched Rachel pace up and down the room, blathering on about objectification and stereotypes, and smiled comfortably the entire time.


	30. Chapter 30

The days marking the start of the school year melted into one another, blurring together like a smeared watercolor until suddenly Quinn found herself next to Rachel in the backseat of Kurt's SUV as they caravanned the eight hours to an invitational in Indiana a week after Sectionals. After the chaotic year they were all still recovering from, the semester was passing quietly for all of them. Even with the balancing of glee, the Cheerios, studying, and being the girlfriend of possibly the most high maintenance person on the planet, Quinn found herself basking in the relative simplicity of a year that lacked unexpected pregnancies, mountains of lies, enraged parents, and Slushies to the face—which by then, unsurprisingly, were banned from the high school campus. Even Rachel seemed less frantic than she had just a year earlier, though she was still prone to launching into lectures and rambles at any given point of the day.

Their relationship had quieted, just as much as the live of the entire glee club had, in the past months. Though Quinn still had nightmares on occasion, and had needed to be talked through a handful of panic attacks, she no longer flinched when someone touched her unexpectedly, and paused only sparingly with her hands hovering over her empty stomach. Rachel, too, had started to forge her way past her own insecurities and concerns, her trust in Quinn's dedication to their relationship growing visibly every time Quinn used her head cheerleader power to cut down someone who insulted anyone in the glee club, or passed up an invitation to a party after a football game so she could go out with Rachel, or stood up for Rachel in the face of even the mildest of insults.

More times than Quinn could count, she had rolled her eyes when Puck complained that she and Rachel had become the dullest couple he'd ever met, and each time, she had sent up a silent prayer that their now-boring relationship never changed; they had dealt with enough excitement to manage the rest of their lives, and now that they had reached a level of comfort between them with the worst of their issues out in the open and already argued over, she had no desire to do anything to stir up some excitement. As it was, their only disagreements then were over Quinn's college plans, what with Rachel getting into both NYU and Julliard, and Quinn torn between a full ride to Georgetown and an almost-full ride to Columbia; if that was all that they had to fight over, Quinn reasoned that they were doing astoundingly well, considering how tumultuously their relationship had been initially.

In the front seat, Kurt and Mercedes were chattering away about something to do with Lindsay Lohan. Rachel had her headphones in, her brow furrowed as she stared intently at the binder full of sheet music in her lap as she softly sang along to recordings she'd made of their set list; her left hand rested atop Quinn's leg, fingers tangled loosely with Quinn's as the blond leaned sleepily against her, supposedly working her way through _Crime and Punishment_ for her English class.

When Rachel finished her run-through of the entire set list, she set her iPod and binder aside and glanced over at Quinn. Quinn yawned, the deceptive warmth of the sun drifting through the windows making her contentedly sleepy, and stretched out across the wide backseat, bare feet propped against the door and her head pillowed comfortably in Rachel's lap. Dostoevsky could only hold her attention for so long, and sleep seemed far more appealing for the last half hour of the drive.

"Hi," Rachel said softly. "Tired?"

"Mhm," Quinn mumbled, her eyes shut as Rachel's fingers unthinkingly slid through her hair. "Sleepy time."

"You went running again before we left, didn't you?"

Quinn could hear the vague disapproval without even opening her eyes. "Maybe," she drawled. She opened one eye and looked up at Rachel. "You were on the elliptical this morning, so I'm pretty sure you don't get to lecture me about exercising."

"Exercise is good," Rachel said. "But running, especially on pavement, has proven detrimental effects on the body."

"Yeah, but it makes me pretty," Quinn said with a winning smile. "Not all of us can get such rocking legs just from using an elliptical, you know." One arm dropped down off the seat, her fingers curling teasingly around Rachel's ankle, and her smile widened when Rachel flushed brightly, her head ducking down instinctively.

"Flattery, while appreciated, will hardly negate my point," Rachel said stubbornly. Quinn wasn't sure how or when she had reached the point where Rachel's obstinacy became intriguing and adorable instead of frustrating and dangerous—though, she thought wryly, if she had to pinpoint it, she might say that it was sometime around the time when she realized that the progressive changes in her relationship with Rachel had changed Quinn herself into an almost entirely different person than she'd been just a year ago— but she felt like she had to constantly restrain herself from reaching out and pinching Rachel's cheek whenever the brunette set her jaw and crossed her arms stubbornly to make a point.

"The fact remains that the impact on your joints from running can lead to any number of health issues, from shin splints to cartilage damage. Not to mention the fact that you run a far higher risk of acute injury by running on the road than you do utilizing an elliptical."

"Pun!" Quinn said quickly. "You just made a pun." She reached up and blindly pinched at Rachel's arm. "I thought you hated puns."

"Ow!" Rachel said. "And I do hate puns. They're the lowest form of humor and—"

"But humor regardless," Quinn interrupted. She smiled cheekily. "Don't hate."

Rachel rolled her eyes, her head falling back against the seat exasperatedly. "I think I liked you more when you were calling me man-hands," she muttered. "You were far more predictable then. I don't know how to manage you when you're acting like you're high."

Quinn smirked. "Too late," she said. "You're totally stuck with me now."

"Am I?"

"For good," Quinn said automatically, the words leaping past her lips before she had even considered them. Her eyes widened as soon as she spoke them, and one hand twitched instinctively, as if to cover her mouth in an attempt to lasso the words. She watched as the amusement in Rachel's eyes faded into surprise and solemnity as she stared down at Quinn.

"Really?" she asked in a small voice.

Quinn stared up at her, her eyes still wide, and wondered when something that had been born of pain and security and a desperate need for something to feel right again had melted into something comfortable and easy, something that she could barely bring herself to imagine giving up. Since their argument when Rachel returned from Chicago, neither of them had found the nerve to broach the topic of the quantity or quality of their feelings for one another. Quinn remained stubbornly convinced that, for all that she loved Rachel, she was going to hurt the smaller girl, and Rachel obstinately insisted that everything would work out for the best if they just _tried_.

Fears aside, though, Quinn could hardly deny that the highlight of her time at school was the free period when she met Rachel in the rehearsal room, or the Cheerios locker room, or Mr. Scheu's office that was perpetually empty because he spent third period flirting with Miss Pillsbury; or that the worst thing about the semester thus far had been when Quinn had to spend nights out of town for cheerleading competitions.

Similarly, there was no doubt that the feelings of security and companionship she had with Rachel was the only thing that could calm her down when she was teetering on the edge of the increasingly-rare panic attacks—about the miscarriage, about the phantom bruise she still felt from her father's fist, about the resigned look in Puck's eyes every time she caught him staring at her and Rachel together. Even though Quinn was on a slow and steady recovery from her miscarriage and the disappearance of her father from her life, slowly sorting through the tangled web of her own emotions and coming to terms with what had happened, she could barely imagine having to fight her way through one of those moments alone, without knowing somewhere in her mind that Rachel would be there to grab her hand and stroke her hair and talk her through it.

"Quinn?" Rachel's soft voice pulled Quinn out of her myriad of parading thoughts, and she shook her head slightly, blinking and looking up to where Rachel was staring down at her apprehensively. Quinn felt a twinge in her stomach at the nervous look in Rachel's eyes—it had only taken a few weeks of development in their relationship for her to realize that she loathed it when Rachel looked scared, that she felt inclined to do anything in the world to prevent Rachel ever having to be worried about anything— and wondered if there was a subtle and not-ridiculous way to declare that she wanted nothing more out of the world than to be the kind of person who deserved to be loved by Rachel Berry.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I kinda zoned out."

"You did," Rachel said. Her fingers moved tentatively in Quinn's hair as she waited with impatience brimming in her eyes, poorly masked behind anxiety and the obvious need to ply Quinn with questions. Losing herself in her considerations for a moment once more, Quinn marveled at how drastically different Rachel had become around her since their relationship had found some semblance of solid footing after their last argument when Rachel returned from Chicago so many months ago. The brunette was far quieter at times, her sharp edges dulled slightly and her patience extended; she was less likely to ramble and prone to looking thoughtfully at Quinn for long periods of time before responding to a question or suggestion. It was almost disconcerting how significantly she had changed since she first kissed Quinn.

Then again, Quinn thought wryly, it was just as disconcerting to think how much the past year had changed Quinn herself. It sometimes seemed like their entire world had been tossed into a blender and irrevocably turned inside-out, and the thought that anything could return to how it had been was, frankly, far more disconcerting.

"Did you mean it?" Rachel prodded.

"What?" Quinn asked distractedly.

"Quinn," Rachel said exasperatedly. The nervous look faded into impatience. "What you said a minute ago. 'For good.'"

"Oh, that," Quinn muttered.

"Yes, that."

"I…" Quinn paused, biting her lip. "Yeah, I think I did." She stared boldly up at Rachel. "I did."

"Oh," Rachel said faintly. Long seconds ticked past as she met Quinn's stare with wide eyes, her cheeks flushed, before she smiled widely and leaned down to press a kiss to Quinn's forehead. "Good," she whispered.

Quinn matched her smile, one hand snaking up to wrap around Rachel's neck and pull her closer for a kiss. She made a frustrated noise when the car jostled as Kurt slammed it to a stop in the parking lot at the hotel they would be staying at. She glared sideways at the front seat, where Kurt was unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping delicately out of the car.

"Stop that immediately," he scolded. "Both of you. Cut the googly-eyes and the secret smiles. There will be no making out in my backseat. Unless I'm a party."

"Well, you know, you—" Rachel started. Quinn, eyes wide and jaw dropping, immediately clapped her hands over Rachel's mouth.

"Ignore her!" She half-shouted out towards Kurt. "She's sleep deprived from practicing so much for the competition, she has no clue what she's saying."

She glared up at Rachel, who was blinking at her curiously. "Not funny!" she hissed.

Rachel shrugged, pulling Quinn's hands away easily. "If you say so," she said. "_I_ thought it was funny."

"Of course you did," Quinn grumbled as she sat up. "You have a ridiculous sense of humor."

"You do realize that you all but danced a victory jig when you caught me making a pun, correct?" Rachel followed Quinn out of the car. "I'm fairly certain that such a reaction qualifies your sense of humor as ridiculous as well."

Finn called out to Rachel, waving her over from where he stood with Mr. Scheu, sheet music in one hand and choreography notes in the other and a panicked look across his face. Rachel sighed, smiling nonetheless, and stretched up to kiss Quinn briefly before making her way over to Finn.

Quinn leaned against the car behind her, arms folded over her chest, staring blankly. She jumped slightly in surprise when Santana suddenly thunked back against the car next to her, mirroring her position and staring at Rachel with a bored look in her eyes. Brittany bounced over as well, worming her way between Santana and the car, chin on her shoulder.

"What are we looking at?" she whispered loudly. Quinn smiled, shaking her head.

"Quinn," Santana answered. "Being totally whipped."

"I'm not," Quinn said automatically, even if she knew it was a terrible and bald-faced lie.

"You kinda are," Brittany said sympathetically. "But it's not a bad thing, is it?" She tightened her arms around Santana's waist, and Santana begrudgingly shook her head.

"No," she said, still looking at Quinn with an unreadable expression on her face. "I guess it's not."

Quinn flushed lightly, looking down at her shoes. She glanced over to where Rachel was trying to lead Finn through some of their dance steps, rattling out an eight count while he tried haplessly to follow Mike's and Mr. Scheu's examples; she smiled a little wider and shrugged.

A long silence hovered between the three of them, and despite the bite of cold in the air and the cool metal at her back, Quinn felt a comfortable warmth, as much from the presence of her two best friends at her side as from catching Rachel's eye and trading soft smiles before the brunette turned her attention back to their helpless friend.

"I'm going to go to Columbia," Quinn said softly, not taking her eyes away from Rachel.

"Well, duh," Santana said. Quinn marveled at her friend's ability to make an eye roll audible in her voice. "Everybody knew that the minute you got in."

Brittany slipped out from behind Santana, throwing her arms around Quinn and ignoring a disgruntled "Hey!" from Santana as she fell back against the car.

"Took you long enough to figure it out," Brittany whispered in Quinn's ear. Just as quickly as she had leapt from Santana to Quinn, she pressed a kiss to Quinn's cheek and half-skipped, half-danced across the parking lot and launched herself at Finn with a laugh before grabbing his wrists and walking him through the dance steps.

"She's right," Santana said lowly. She elbowed Quinn in the side.

"Yeah," Quinn said, voice soft. "She really is."

"And I'm right, too," Santana added. "You're totally whipped." She elbowed Quinn again. "Like, totally, completely, dopey grin, midnight ice cream run, cuddle-whore _whipped_."

Quinn rolled her eyes, pushing away from the car and turning to face Santana with a shrug. "Probably," she said airily. "But you know, I'm really kind of okay with that." She glanced over her shoulder at Rachel once more. Looking back to Santana, she shrugged again. "I don't want to think about not being with her, not anymore."

Santana sighed, somehow looking simultaneously disgusted at Quinn's sappy words and wholly empathetic. "You're a total sap," she muttered. "But, you know… whatever. If she makes you all happy like that, then I guess you should go to New York and all. Even if it makes you totally lame."

Quinn smirked. "Gee, thanks," she said drily. "Besides, it's not like you're following Brittany to LA or anything, right?"

Santana flushed darkly, glaring at Quinn, and Quinn laughed brightly. Spontaneously, she leaned over and kissed her best friend on the cheek. "Don't worry, S," she said conspiratorially. "I won't tell anyone you're whipped if you don't tell anyone I am."

With a wink, she jogged across the parking lot to join the others. Rachel and Mike had given up on the dance lesson, instead almost falling into one another with laughter as Brittany tried to explain the dance steps and Finn stared at her with a completely blank expression on his face. Quinn slid her arms around Rachel's waist from behind her, tugging the smaller girl back into her.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hey," Rachel said softly, body still shaking with giggles. Quinn tightened her grip, her chin resting on Rachel's shoulder, and, as they both stared at Brittany and Finn, considered how much a year had changed them all.

A full thirty seconds of pondering left her lost in thought, only to be jerked out by a bright peal of laughter from Brittany, and Quinn slipped back to reality in time to see Finn topple to the asphalt, his feet tangled up with one another. Rachel shook with laughter in her arms, and Quinn smiled softly.

"I'm going to go to Columbia," she murmured in Rachel's ear spontaneously.

When Rachel shrieked and somehow spun around and tackled Quinn without ever actually leaving their embrace, kissing her soundly in spite of the wolf whistles and catcalls from their friends, all Quinn could think was that the people they had been a year ago didn't matter anymore—she had been torn down completely, and then been built back up into an entirely different person; Rachel had, in her constant concern for Quinn, softened around the edges and become the charming girl that none of them had known lurked beneath the obnoxious surface; Puck had worked his way through one epiphany after another and was as much of a brother to Quinn as Devon had ever been a sister; Finn had simply grown up, his brain finally catching up to his monstrous figure.

They had changed, all of them, in some way or another, and Quinn couldn't help but think that who they had been was a pointless consideration. They were all who they were now, and for the first time in her life, Quinn felt like she was someone worthwhile.

The future—her constant fears of hurting Rachel, of being hurt by Rachel, of everything blowing up painfully in a mess of broken hearts and disappointments—didn't matter anymore than the past did, because for the first time in eighteen years, she felt like she was finally whoever it was she was supposed to be. And, more importantly, she was with exactly who she was supposed to be with.

* * *

**Epic Author's Note Is Epic**: Well, that's all, folks. Thanks so much to everyone who had the patience to stick with this insanity for the entire story—you've all been fabulous and far too kind in making your way through my muddled, unedited story. I hope I didn't let anyone down too terribly. Thank y'all for all of your support! I probably would've given up on this around chapter ten if it'd been left up to me. I hope everyone's enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed (slash gone completely INSANE) writing it.

One thing, though: I've gotten a few comments, here and on Livejournal, about imbalances in Rachel and Quinn's relationship in this story—double-standards and the like, and that Rachel is giving everything and Quinn offering nothing in return.

The simple response to the first of those is… well, duh, if I may be blunt. Of course there are imbalances and double-standards in their relationship. A perfectly balanced relationship is a fantasy, and as cheerful and lovely as that is to imagine, I'd rather stick to realism. Also, pause for a moment and consider everything that Quinn went through in this story. Her entire world was upended—her family disowned her and left her homeless, she found a home in what was probably the last place and with the last people she expected, she lost her child, she had a sexual awakening of sorts, she fell in love, she was hit by her father and completely lost any possibility of reconciliation with him… frankly, she went through the ringer. Rachel is understandably afraid of upsetting her, and Quinn is understandably gun-shy.

On the flip side of things, Rachel isn't perfect, especially not in the context of Quinn. She's pushy and domineering at times—which is why it was always so surprising, to Quinn and everyone else—when she _was_ patient; she views the world in stark terms when it comes to the right and wrong way to do things, and seems at times completely incapable of compromise; she doesn't trust Quinn or in the possibility that Quinn can or has changed. She's a wondrous friend and partner to Quinn most of the time, because she _does_ love her, and she does do whatever she can to support and prop up and care for Quinn, but her struggles with their relationship are on a deeply personal level stemming from the fact that she's in a relationship with _Quinn_, whereas the majority of Quinn's struggles stem from her life being tossed into a blender and stumbling out the other side with a wholly different world in front of her.

Regarding the idea that Rachel offers everything and gets nothing in return… I have to be honest and say that I find that to be completely untrue. Granted, I acknowledge my own bias, and know that things may not have come onto the page as they were structured in my head, but regardless of that, I disagree. Yes, Rachel is a stalwart and strong person for Quinn in the aftermath of everything Quinn went through. She was there for Quinn in admirable and commendable ways. In the time after Quinn's miscarriage, there's no denying that Rachel grew as much as a person as Quinn did over the course of the entire story. However, Quinn isn't just sitting around taking and taking without offering anything in return. No, Rachel didn't need as much direct support from Quinn, but Rachel also didn't lose a child. Quinn sticks up for Rachel even when Rachel isn't around—most often against Santana and her own particularly abrasive brand of affection, but also when Mr. Fabray was insulting Rachel so cruelly—and will take on anyone who's rude or unkind to Rachel—like she did with Mercedes and Kurt at Regionals. She stood up to Coach Sylvester, only rejoining the cheerleading squad on the specific condition of Rachel being protected from mistreatment by Sue and everyone under Sue's thumb.

Their relationship isn't perfect, and it was never my intention to create a perfect relationship. Perfect and balanced relationships are a myth, and a relationship involving two obstinate, strong-willed, domineering people—one of which has a significantly traumatic background to work through—is going to be even less perfect than most. That said, though, a lack of balance doesn't—I think, at least—in any way make their relationship less loving, less meaningful, or less solid.

::breathes::

And on that note, I hope y'all enjoyed this, and now I'm going to go sleep for a year.


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